The Cripple and the Handmaiden
by Of Dragon Blood
Summary: What if the Kingslayer came across a beautiful young handmaiden during his stay at Harrenhal who made him question whether he wanted to return to King's Landing, and more importantly, to his beloved Cersei? The following story is a reimagining of events taken place during Jaime Lannister's stay at Harrenhal with Roose Bolton, and beyond.
1. Introductions

**Disclaimer:** This story is told from the perspectives of Jaime Lannister and Marleya Thaller, OC. No infringement is intended; all rights belong to the brilliant George R.R. Martin, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. However, please note that there will be certain scenes taken from episodes of the series and rewritten to include my OC as needed. Additionally, all photos used of Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and Nina Dobrev belong to those parties and those parties alone.

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 **Introductions**

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He staggered along an empty corridor, following the moist steam wafting through the air until he reached the dank bath chambers of Harrenhal. **_Fucked._** That was perhaps the best word Jaime Lannister could use to describe his current situation, which truly meant something considering what an excellent vocabulary the Kingslayer had developed over the years at his father's insistence.

After spending countless weeks as Brienne of Tarth's prisoner, the two reluctant companions came to an unlucky end when encountering a group of Roose Bolton's soldiers whilst traveling the outskirts of the Kingsroad. To say that he'd enjoyed Brienne's company as she transported him from Robb Stark's camp to King's Landing would be far from accurate. However, he would have much preferred continuing his travels with the beastly woman rather than suffering the grim fate he'd become entangled with when Bolton's men had discovered him.

Staring down at the place where his sword hand had once been, he chuckled bitterly at the bandages covering his flesh and bone. As if a few strands of well-placed cloth could hide what lurked so hideously beneath. Jaime's right hand was gone; his glory. Slashed off by one of Bolton's monstrous minions. Everything he'd amounted to had been brought to him through that hand; the honor of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard for not one but two kings, as well as the shame that it had brought upon him when he'd murdered the first. Incredible, how much one meager body part could define an entire person.

"Get me out of these fucking rags!" He growled, his irritable voice echoing throughout the bath chambers as he noticed a figure lingering in his peripheral vision.

At these words, Marleya Thaller raised her eyes from the damp stone floor she'd been scrubbing just outside the archway, pulling the skirt of her work dress down while simultaneously using the back of her hand to brush loose strands of hair away from her face. The young handmaiden had indeed heard of Ser Jaime Lannister's arrival in Harrenhal hours previous, and had been told to stand watch outside the bathing chambers in order to tend to the Kingslayer's needs. While this command had surprised her due to Lord Bolton's frequent desire to keep Marleya to himself, in addition to his known hatred for the Lannisters, she did not hesitate when being told to do so. How could she?

Although young, the handmaiden of Harrenhal was anything but naïve, and she was no fool as to why Bolton kept her close. He liked to watch her work, liked to watch her sweat; liked watching her do anything really, so long as it came from his direct command. Once or twice Marleya had even caught him leaning over to indulge in the scent of her hair whilst she tended to the fire place in his private chambers. Roose Bolton was a proud man who would never admit to it, but he had desires that went far beyond leading in the battlefield as Robb Stark's bannerman, and although he had never tried anything, Marleya constantly felt the man's lustful eyes assaulting her as she moved throughout the desolate castle.

Marleya, known to those closest to her as Mara, grew up on a horse farm a few leagues south of Winterfell. Her father had been a commoner who held nothing to his name, and when he and her mother died tragically in the summer two years previous they'd left their daughter with nothing but a ruined farm that could bring her no possible profit. With nowhere left to go, Mara was able to scrape by for a little over a year by working for a farmer's market in one of Winterfell's adjoining villages, but was then forced to begin work in a brothel once the War of the Five Kings had driven away business. Although she certainly possessed the beauty and talents to please every man who visited the pleasure house, she soon grew degraded and tiresome of the work and departed from that occupation as well.

It wasn't until the Sack of Winterfell that the young woman came into the employ of House Bolton. In fact, she'd only been with Lord Bolton a fortnight when he was anointed Head of Harrenhal, and had traveled to the castle along with the rest of his staff to tend to their lord master. Of all the handmaiden's previous occupations however, she often contemplated whether working for Bolton was an actual improvement over the shameful duties of her past. It was a constant battle to work for such a vile man, in addition to each of his counterparts. Night after night Mara would lie awake, replaying the series of misfortunes she'd seen and heard throughout the day. When she had a spare moment to herself, she often spent her time wondering how much longer she could possibly stand to experience such horrors before it completely broke her spirit.

"You've never seen a cripple before?" Jaime grunted, finally turning his head to look at the figure who stood in the doorway.

Slightly taken by surprise, Jaime hesitated as he took in the vision that stood before him. He'd not been expecting a woman to tend to his needs, and had instead assumed that Bolton would have tossed in the feeble old coot who had led him into Harrenhal by his horse to be assigned the duty of cleaning him.

 _This though . . . this woman._

Her luscious dark hair fell in loose curls down to the end of her slender back. Her skin was olive-toned and tanned, which led him to believe that she was a woman who had traveled; a woman who knew much about the world despite her obvious youth. Her lips were plump and rose colored, breasts full and stomach lean. Of all these features however, he could not stop looking at her eyes. Dark and brown as molten chocolate, yet filled with such an undeniable light. She looked nothing like his twin sister and lover Cersei, nowhere near, yet somehow Jaime found himself completely taken with the girl. Perhaps it was his lightheaded state that had him thinking such thoughts; the fever in his brain, or the heat which surrounded them. Perhaps it was because the closest thing he'd seen to a woman in weeks was Brienne. Whatever the reason may be, this stranger was easily the most beautiful woman he'd beheld in the North, perhaps in all Seven Kingdoms. To think that anyone could hide such a beauty up here was a true injustice. Despite his hatred of Roose Bolton, the Kingslayer could not help but feel a small fraction of gratitude toward the man for allowing him something so beautiful to look upon after his many hardships.

"I've seen worse." Mara replied cooly, her dark hues briefly taking in his disheveled appearance.

"Is that so?" He smirked at the young woman's boldness. "I suppose rather a frequent side-effect, working under Roose Bolton's employ."

Being a Lannister of Casterly Rock, Jaime had long since become accustomed to having people kissing his perfectly shaped arse on a frequent basis. When one was finished, another proceeded, and so the rotation continued again and again. Of course he knew that behind the fake plastered smiles they were all whispering about his betrayal to Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King. Whether this woman knew who he was or not he couldn't be sure. Although he had to admit, at least to himself, that part of him longed to remain anonymous; to perhaps see how a stranger would react to who he was as a person rather than who he was by blood and reputation. Why he cared what a lowly handmaiden thought of him, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps his journey truly had taken a toll on him mentally, as well as physically. Gods, it had been a long journey, not only along the Kingsroad with that great oaf of a woman Brienne, but a long life. Jaime was tired and truly exhausted of feigning a liking to a title he had never wanted in the first place.

It was true, Jaime Lannister had a reputation that far preceded him: The firstborn son of Tywin Lannister, as well as a member of the Kingsguard. Handsome, charming, yet also exceedingly arrogant; all things one would expect from royalty. As it was, Mara's experience with royalty was nonexistent and she had never played the part of the ignorant, doe-eyed girl who spent her time obsessing over the chance to come into the presence of any. Furthermore, Mara's father Ryon Thaller had been a loyal bannerman to House Stark and had never had anything particularly kind to say about the Lannisters. Similarly, Mara's mother Alina had possessed a particular inclination towards disliking the most powerful family in Westeros.

 _"_ _Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?"_

She could remember her mother's soft voice, tinged with the distinct accent of the South caressing each syllable.

 _"_ _They think that their gold and their lions make them better than everyone else. But they're not golden lions, and they're no better than you or me."_

Even at such a young age, Mara knew that her mother's words had been well-rehearsed. It was the mantra that Alina Jordayne had grown up hearing in Dorne. Lannisters were the enemy, and they had been ever since Tywin Lannister led his army in for the Sack of King's Landing and gave the order that left Elia Martell raped and murdered; her children butchered. Despite her mother's reluctance when it came to speaking of the family she'd left behind in Dorne, it was all too clear where Alina's loyalties had lain. Although there had been many secrets that Alina had kept shielded from Mara over the years, that was one thing she'd never attempted to hide from her daughter.

After a few seconds spent in silence, Mara carefully stepped towards Jaime, lifting her hands to his shoulders and stripping him of his filthy coat. With pursed lips, she let out a slow breath, avoiding inhaling through her nose as she continued down to his tunic that stank of rotten mildew, her deft fingers raising the dirty, dampened cloth.

"Careful," She warned, gently guiding his right arm above his head.

Jaime groaned softly in response, not because the handmaiden had purposely caused injury to him, but because he'd had to abruptly change positions, causing a sharp pain to shoot forth as if fire were lancing down his arm.

Studying him with eyes full of concern, Mara opened her mouth as if to apologize, but then stubbornly pressed her lips back together instead. He may have lost a very important piece of himself when he'd been captured by Bolton's men, but at least he still held his life. That was more than she could say for countless northern men who had lost everything during the war. Sliding her hands down his lean, muscular abdomen, Mara made to begin on the top laces of his trousers, but then abruptly came to a stop.

Sensing the handmaiden's hesitation, Jaime raised his eyebrows as if to challenge her.

Feeling his eyes laughing at her, she avoided his gaze. Mara had lived a life full of men underestimating her, and she would not let Jaime Lannister of all people think himself capable of doing the same thing. No matter whose son he was, what king he served, or which body parts he had recently lost. Grazing her fingers along his pelvis, she undid the first few laces before roughly tugging his trousers down past his hips, keeping her almond colored eyes on his emerald ones the entire time.

"There." She stated simply, taking a step away and averting her gaze to allow him a moment's privacy as he climbed into the heated tub.

All around the room, steam rose in a continuous flow from the great pools of heated water. Casting one last look of amusement in the handmaiden's direction, Jaime stepped out of his trousers and limped over to the nearest tub, slipping one aching foot in after the other before allowing the rest of his body to follow suit. Swiping his hand along his side, he probed his ribs with the tips of his fingers, trying not to let the embarrassment of his wounded, malnourished body show on his face. Day after day, night after night, with nothing but a skin full of water and a slop of food here and there after the wolves had their full. This had to be the very first time in all of Jaime's existence that he'd felt ashamed of his appearance, and he had Robb and Catelyn bloody Stark to thank for it. All his life he'd been complimented not only for his skill of sword, but for his golden Lannister looks. He'd never known how the other half had to live, and truth be told, he did not care for it.

Angrily shaking those thoughts of insecurity away, he shot a look of frustration at the handmaiden. "Well? Do you honestly expect me to tend to **_ALL_** of this," He gestured with his stump to his overgrown beard, hair and filthy body. "With **_ONE_** bloody hand?"

Ripping her apron from her skirts, Mara strode forward, making no attempt to hide her own anger as she clenched her fists to her sides. Lifting a bucket filled with bars of soap, cloth, scrub brushes and shears, she moved over to Jaime's tub and kneeled down by his side, her eyes casually glancing over his bare chest and shoulders as she sorted through her supplies. His chest once strong was now slightly sunken; skin once smooth now littered with cuts and bruises. Although it was obvious that he'd certainly endured many hardships over the past year, there was no denying it; Jaime Lannister was still a very attractive man. Since she was a child Mara had listened to tales and songs detailing the Kingslayer's renowned beauty and, although somewhat hidden due to his current state, he was still beautiful in every sense of the word.

In years past she had never spent much time thinking foul thoughts of the Lannisters, despite her parents insistence of their disloyalty to the Throne. Even now she was unsure of just what to believe with the current war raging on. So many rumors had been told; Houses divided. The only thing Mara could be certain of was the fact that innocent people were dying, and she had no intention on laying blame on any one person due to the mistakes of others. Until more evidence became clear, until she was convinced that one of these great families would do right by her people over all others, she would make no claim to any of them.

Jaime hesitated as the young handmaiden approached him. Despite his reputation as a lady charmer there was only one lady he'd ever lain with; only one lady he had ever loved. His twin sister, Cersei. He'd given up everything to be with her. Lands, titles, marriage, and in doing so; their father's respect and admiration. All of it, just to ensure that he could remain at her side by becoming a member of Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard, and then Robert Baratheon after him. Day in and day out he'd served as Robert's glorified bodyguard and taken the abuse the man saw fit to bestow upon him. Up until this point no woman, apart from the wet nurses he'd had growing up, had ever seen him so vulnerable. No, not even his beloved Cersei had ever seen him in such a manner before. In fact, the thought of his dear sister actually being able to stay in the same room with him for more than a few seconds in his current state was all too humorous. That was at least what Jaime tried to convince himself as he glowered down at his stump in shame.

Sensing his unease, Mara took her time as she dipped a cloth into the warm water, grabbed a bar of soap and began lathering the suds up along the smooth material. "Close your eyes," She instructed softly, to which he hesitated for the briefest of seconds before willingly obeying.

Pressing the cloth to his face, she gently wiped away the matted blood and dirt that had been collecting in his beard for gods only knew how long. With each swipe of the cloth, she began to glimpse a closer look at the man she knew so well by reputation. No wonder there had been so many ballads written about him; so many stories told of his prowess. It had to be a great loss to him, no longer possessing his sword hand. Although she had by no means forgotten how rude he'd been to her just moments before, Mara could not deny Jaime the devastation he must feel over the entire situation.

Easing her way lower, she made quick work of scrubbing his chest and torso, then moved onto his arms and shoulders. Finally coming to a stop at the stump where his right hand had been, she looked at him hesitantly. "You're in a lot of pain," She began, ignoring the slight roll of his eyes that greeted her obvious statement. "I can get Qyburn to bring you milk of the poppy."

"No, thank you," He replied swiftly. "I'd prefer to keep my wits about me while under Roose Bolton's roof."

Smiling at his answer, she gave a slight nod of her head. "Wise."

Hearing this, Jaime couldn't resist allowing the tiniest of smiles to grace his own features. Handmaiden or not, this young woman was obviously well aware of her master's ruthless reputation in the Seven Kingdoms. It made him almost proud, to see such a lowly creature taking an interest in the politics that went around the realm. Most of the handmaidens in King's Landing were dumb and dull as posts, and were only capable of emptying out chamber pots and spreading their legs for the various lords who roamed the castle. This one though, she obviously knew a thing or two about the going's on in Westeros, which meant she likely knew a thing or two about him as well. But Jaime had to wonder, exactly _how much_ did she know?

"What happened?" Mara finally asked, her gaze never wavering from his face.

"Slight altercation," He replied with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

It was hard to take the situation lightly, but he couldn't exactly whimper about it in front of the young woman. Hours previous, Jaime could not have said the same even if he had so wished. Whilst Qyburn carved away the rotting flesh and burned out the corruption from the inside of his wrist with boiling wine, he'd cried and wailed out in the worst pain he was like to ever experience in his life. It was a wonder they hadn't heard him throughout the entire castle — throughout all Seven bloody Kingdoms.

"Did that altercation go by the name of Locke?" She questioned.

"I don't concern myself with the names of dead men." He replied bitterly.

Jaime had taken note of Roose Bolton's shock and anger at finding that one of his men had taken the punishment of a Lannister into his own hands. As they marched under the iron portcullis, he remembered Bolton's face falling all too clearly as he watched Locke taunt him with his own severed hand. Jaime had every intention of using that as his leverage to get out of this hellhole, and if there was any justice in this world he would make the savage pay for the crime of removing his sword hand before he left Harrenhal. A Lannister always paid his debts after all, and he intended to pay this one with interest.

Once she had finished washing his body, Mara returned to Jaime's face, combing her fingers through his matted beard whilst glancing down at the pair of shears nestled in her bucket.

"Cut it all off," He demanded softly, nodding his consent.

Over the course of the next several minutes Mara began to cut away the pieces of wet beard from his face. Lathering the suds up in her delicate hands, she smeared her palms and fingers along his cheeks, then gently followed the path she'd made with the sharp edge of her blade. It occurred to her more than once during this process that, in that moment, she held the Kingslayer completely under her control. She could do anything she wanted to him — slit his throat; end the Lannister's bloody reign against the Starks and Baratheons — all with one swift slash of her blade.

Studying the handmaiden's eyes, Jaime soon came to the realization that she knew exactly who he was. Whether she had been aware of this fact from the beginning or had just discovered it now that the grimy beard no longer hid his features, he couldn't be sure, but those lovely doe-eyes were too honest to keep this fact hidden from him any longer. Whether she wanted to or not.

 _Throat slashed by a beautiful handmaiden . . ._ He mused. _There are worse ways to die._

His body tensed as the blade made its way down his throat, carving away a bit of stubble that had grown just above his Adam's apple. As they both held the same moment of understanding, Mara looked away from Jaime's eyes and moved onto his hair. The Lion of Lannister's usual head of shining golden locks had since turned to a murky brownish blonde, obtained from months spent held in captivity in a place where no sun could shine through. But with each swipe of Mara's blade, Jaime began to look and feel more and more like his old self.

"You said you've seen many cripples in your day," He commented, his attempt at casual conversation.

"Mmm," She nodded as she cut away more of his dark golden hair. "I grew up on a farm with little boys and old men, some of whom couldn't be bothered to learn how to properly wield an axe." Brushing away the fallen pieces of hair that had landed on his collarbone, she continued in a somber voice. "I've seen more bloodshed than I care to admit."

From the ominous tone her sweet voice had suddenly taken, he gathered that the handmaiden had experienced more than just careless accidents on the farm in her time. She was so young, so beautiful. He wagered around eight-and-ten. Alas, she was nearly two decades younger than him and had obviously seen much more than she ever should have given her youth. But what could she have possibly seen to have given her such a bleak outlook on life? Whatever it was, he was desperate to learn, but smart enough to realize that he couldn't simply demand to know the answer within such a short time of knowing her. Curiosity had never been one of Jaime's weaknesses, in fact most people bored him beyond all recognition. But this woman, this handmaiden, for whatever reason . . . she was different. She had secrets, and he was quickly beginning to understand that he was willing to go to great lengths to learn them.

"Have you worked for Bolton long?" He asked, his curiosity piqued with each word that left her lips.

"A few months now," She replied easily, gently moving her fingers through his newly short hair; a gesture of pronouncing her work finished.

Briefly indulging in the feel of her nimble fingers, he hesitated before continuing his earlier thought. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Do I enjoy working for a man who flays his enemies for sport?"

Jaime grinned slowly in response, but made no attempt to reply. He knew that she clearly had more to add.

Quickly processing her own words, Mara looked away, remembering herself. "Forgive me, Ser. I should not speak ill of my lord."

"On the contrary, you should speak ill of anyone who should so warrant it."

"Not all of us are fortunate enough to speak whatever comes to our mind."

"And yet here you are, speaking freely. Some advice, my lady; if you don't speak your mind you'll condemn yourself to an even more dreadful fate than the one you've already chosen for yourself."

Mara froze as she took in Jaime's words of advice. Whether he meant them as a slight or not, she couldn't be sure, but she was certainly going to take them as such.

"And you think that I've simply chosen this fate for myself?" She demanded, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. "As if being Roose Bolton's handmaiden is my sole ambition?"

"We all choose our own fates, one way or another." He reasoned.

"Just as you chose the fate which led to the loss of your hand?" She challenged.

As the bath chambers grew silent, he held the young woman's steady gaze with his own. Around them the sound of dripping water echoed throughout the corridors. For a moment he thought for sure that she would go out of her way to redeem herself, stuttering out her apologies for not guarding her tongue around such a highborn man, but instead the handmaiden merely continued to glare at him. The look in her eyes offered no regret; no apology. Instead, she wore a look of stubbornness in her fierce brown eyes that soon had him chuckling in response.

"And yet you have absolutely no qualms about saying such words to me."

"I hardly know you."

"Let's change that, shall we? What is your name?"

He'd been avoiding the question for fear of the woman responding with an equal interest in knowing his. Now that he knew she was all too aware of his identity however, his curiosity had overridden his fear.

"Marleya Thaller," She replied, her previously cold demeanor slowly beginning to thaw as a slow smile graced her lips. _"Mara."_

For once in his life, Jaime grew speechless. He now knew with complete and utter certainty that Mara had known exactly who he was, had known from the very beginning, yet she'd treated him just as she would any other man who'd endured his share of hardships. She had given him that small courtesy when she owed him nothing, nothing at all. More than that, she hadn't let his reputation intimidate her for a second. For all of these reasons he appreciated the young handmaiden, even more, he respected her, and respect was not something given lightly from Jaime Lannister.

"You can call me Jaime," He replied, another smile curving the corners of his lips. No Ser, no My Lord, no Kingslayer, no Oathbreaker, no Man Without Honor. _No . . . "Just Jaime."_


	2. Kitchen Gossip

**A/N:** Thank you for all of the positive feedback! I'm glad to hear that so many of you were anticipating the return of this story. Hope you enjoy the latest installment.

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 **Kitchen Gossip**

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"That Jaime Lannister sure is lookin' more and more like his charmin' old self again," The plump cook Fiyona bellowed, nudging one of the other female kitchen workers in the ribs as she let out a raucous chuckle. "Even if he is a cripple!"

"Well, at least now the Golden Lion knows what it's like for the rest of us." Rand, a stable boy around the same age as Mara grumbled as he limped over to collect a few grapes from a wooden plate.

Although he'd never revealed what had caused his injury, his pride far too wounded to discuss such matters, Mara had heard stories that Rand had been crippled by a group of farmers that he'd stolen several chickens from before coming to work for House Bolton. With no choice but to listen to the stable boy's mumblings, Mara looked away to avoid his gaze as she shook her head in annoyance. Growing up on a farm, Mara's father often dealt with poachers and thieves who had stolen from both his crops and stables, and so she found it especially difficult to find any sort of sympathy for Rand or his shortcomings. Particularly considering he was a complete and utter arse.

"Oi," Fiyona growled, slapping Rand's dirty hand away from the table. "Those ain't for you!"

Keeping her eyes at level with the roast that she'd spent the past few minutes carving, Mara set out three plates on the counter. One for Lord Bolton, one for Brienne of Tarth, and one for Jaime. Although there had certainly been some hostility between the two during the beginning of their exchange the previous night, by the time Jaime's bath water ran cold, Mara found that there was much more to the infamous Kingslayer than anyone had ever given him credit for.

While working in the brothel, Mara had discovered long ago how to tell when a man was lying, and although she certainly wasn't naïve enough to think that Jaime Lannister had willingly bared every last inch of his soul to her and could therefore be trusted, she _had_ developed a certain fondness for him . . . which made the evening's upcoming events that much more concerning.

Over dinner, Lord Bolton would be meeting with the pair to discuss Jaime and Brienne's fates, and the thought alone made Mara's stomach churn. The young handmaiden was not ignorant to the circumstances which brought Jaime to Harrenhal; having heard Bolton's men cackling over the incident with Locke in the woods, yet her greatest hope was that Bolton would not allow his men to bring further harm to Jaime. He was a Lannister afterall; a man of great importance. If anything more were to happen to him, Tywin Lannister would certainly come to avenge his son; something that Lord Bolton — no matter how proud — certainly could not risk. Not at a time like this; not when the war between North and South continued to rage on. This, at least, was what Mara kept telling herself in a desperate attempt to soothe her nerves.

Sticking out his tongue to Fiyona's weak threats, Rand crammed a few more grapes into his mouth. "What happened to the Kingslayer's hand anyway, eh?" He questioned, great gobs of red juice sloshing down his chin as he continued with his nauseating display. "Did that great big dyke of a woman get so sick an' tired of travelin' with him that she just—" Swiping his hand down on the counter top, Rand grinned wolfishly when he saw that he'd succeeded in making a few of the kitchen wenches jump. " . . . snapped?"

"No, it was that fool Locke who done it," Fiyona muttered, shaking her head vigorously. "I dunno why Lord Bolton doesn't just send that dunce to the Crows, gods be good. They was traveling back to Harrenhal and the Kingslayer got cheeky, so Locke sliced it clean off!" Lifting a broom, she began to mindlessly sweep up the mess that had piled onto the floor throughout the evening dinner preparations. "S'way I heard it, anyway. Lannister should count himself lucky he didn't lose his pretty tongue along with his sword hand."

Grimacing at the vile thought, Mara began to cut one of the pieces of meat into smaller portions; her heart suddenly heavy as she imagined Jaime attempting to cut his supper with just one hand. While the two had spoken throughout the night, Jaime had quietly confessed that he didn't know what he was going to do when he returned to King's Landing; that is if he was permitted to leave Harrenhal. Surely the Kingsguard would refuse taking him back under the circumstances, if he wound up choosing to stay with them in the first place. Mara listened on sympathetically as Jaime muttered about having broken the most sacred of oaths in the past — _"What was one more?"_

"A job well done, Mara!" Fiyona shouted suddenly, nodding her approval at the young handmaiden.

"Meaning?" Mara asked, blinking once, twice, three times as she gently shook herself from her thoughts.

"Well, it was you who got our Lion o' Lannister lookin' so fine again, was it not?" The cook questioned.

"I didn't have to do much." Mara confessed with a shrug of her shoulders, quickly earning a smirk of understanding from Fiyona.

"You know you may be everyone else's type Mara, with those perky tits and that tight little arse of yours," Smacking her hand down on Mara's backside, the cook howled with laughter as the young handmaiden shot her a nasty glare. "But I think you may have found your match in Jaime Lannister."

Snorting loudly, Rand moved onto a loaf of bread, ducking his head to avoid the swipe of a broom handle from Fiyona as he cut an end off and shoved it into his mouth. "Too right you are, you don' look nuffin' like 'im!"

Frowning in spite of what Fiyona and Rand deemed a clever exchange, Mara placed her hands on her hips in a sign of exasperation. She hated sinking to their level by partaking in such mindless kitchen gossip; in fact she often went out of her way to avoid it, but her curiosity was quickly beginning to get the best of her.

"What in seven hells are you two going on about now?"

Chuckling knowingly, Rand continued to chew his food with his mouth wide open, soggy flecks of bread flying as he exclaimed, "Cos he's fuckin' his twin sister, o' course!"

Suddenly, the world around her stopped. Mara could feel all color draining from her face as she processed the repulsive words spoken before her. It felt as if an iron fist had slammed its way into her gut with no intention of letting go. Rand's words had taken her by surprise for certain, but that was the last thing she wanted him or Fiyona to know. No, she wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of catching her unawares, even if the statement had indeed left her mind reeling.

"That's just mindless gossip." Mara muttered, shaking her head disapprovingly as she turned away, looking for anything to busy her hands with.

"They started a war over that _'mindless gossip,'_ girl! Don't tell me you're suddenly losing sight of things just cos you got to sneak a peek at the Kingslayer's cock!" Stretching out over the counter top, Rand leaned back, spreading his long legs and gripping the crotch of his trousers with a toothy grin. " . . . or perhaps you got yourself more than just a peek?"

As the entire kitchen staff bared witness to Rand's display, Fiyona began to cackle so loudly that she broke out into a fit of wet sounding coughs, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself, Rand, seeing as how nobody else will?" Mara growled.

Snatching the plate of bread from the stable boy, she began to furiously carve off three more pieces. Moving next to the fruit, she ignored the grapes completely, grabbed an apple and began chopping it into fine slices to add to the platter. Once she was satisfied she scooped up two of the dinner plates, balancing the third on her forearm as she hurriedly left the kitchen, the skirts of her dress flying as she let the door shut behind her with a resounding slam.

Ignoring the women's boisterous cackling emitting from the kitchens at her treatment of Rand, Mara took a deep breath to collect herself before making her way over to the dining table. Of course she'd heard rumors of Jaime Lannister taking his twin sister Cersei as a lover, but had merely contributed it to low, dirty tactics used by the Baratheons to provide leverage towards their ascent for the Iron Throne. After all, sisters and brothers had not wed since the Targaryens ruled the Seven Kingdoms, and the practice had long since been outlawed.

Those three children though, with golden hair just like Cersei's . . . just like _Jaime's_ . . . Singers sung just as many ballads dedicated to the Baratheon children as they did the Lannisters, and Mara had learned enough about the entire clan over the years to feel as though she knew them herself. But no, it couldn't possibly be true . . . _Could it?_

"Good afternoon, Mara." Jaime called softly from where he stood watching her in the doorway.

To have met the young handmaiden down in the dark, dank bath chambers had been a true injustice to her beauty. Now, framed in the sunlight shining from the wide windows in the dining hall, Jaime was able to fully appreciate her grandeur. Had he not known better he would have assumed she came from Dorne, with her dark hair and lovely bronze skin. Of course, she didn't smell anything like the filth that hailed from that sorry part of realm. She was far too sweet. More than that, she was a true beauty — inside and out — and it wasn't just the extreme contrast she provided from the ugliness of Harrenhal that led him to this conclusion. It was her. _Just her._

"I see you took the liberty of cutting my meat for me," He smiled approvingly as he approached the table.

Although this was normally something that would have infuriated him; an act of pity bestowed upon him by a woman so far beneath him, he found it a kind gesture on Mara's part.

Lifting a fork from the table, he gently speared a piece of roast beef and held it up to her in offering.

"Just performing my duties, Ser." Mara replied shortly with a forced smile, kindly waving away his offer of dining with him.

If she was being honest with herself, Jaime's sudden presence had excited Mara more than she was willing to admit, but just as quickly as she felt the excitement rise within her; a sudden bout of queasiness lurked in the pit of her stomach as she recalled Fiyona and Rand's words.

"Indeed you are," He nodded, forking the meat into his mouth instead and chewing carefully as he studied her.

Something had changed since their last meeting; something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Mara seemed uneasy; almost annoyed at the prospect of having to speak with him, and he didn't like that. He didn't like that one bit. Where was the strong woman he'd spent hours talking to the night before? Where was his brazen little handmaiden hiding?

After they'd made with the introductions yesterday, the two had spoken well into the early hours of the morning. Mara had told Jaime stories of growing up on the farm; stories he'd actually found himself interested in, and in return he'd shared stories of his own childhood. That is, the very few he deemed appropriate for sharing. Most involved Tyrion, whom Mara had shown a great interest in meeting. After spending his entire life witnessing Cersei and the entire population of Casterly Rock and King's Landing shunning Tyrion, Jaime found himself even more taken with the girl for her interest in his little brother. He had, however, made sure to steer clear of the topic of Cersei.

 _"_ _Thaller . . . "_ Jaime remembered repeating her surname as he stroked his freshly smooth chin. _"I've not heard it before."_

 _"Nor should you have."_ Mara had replied simply, and with that Jaime had instantly received her meaning. Mara had grown up in a life filled with nothing, which in turn, filled Jaime with a strong desire to give her everything.

To not have to think of his prick of a father, the coward Robb Stark, the Baratheon bastard, the mad Targaryen girl — even for just a short length of time — it had been a true gift to him; a gift given by someone who owed him absolutely nothing at all. More than that, his gift had been getting to know Mara, and although Jaime couldn't exactly refer to her as a friend, as the Kingslayer had no friends; he _had_ begun to fancy her as something of a welcome companion. The very first he'd had in nearly a year.

Returning to their discussion, Jaime cleared his throat along with all thoughts in his head. "What's happened?" He demanded, his voice turning sour.

"Happened, Ser?" She questioned distractedly whilst continuing on with her dinner preparations.

Clenching his jaw, Jaime stared at Mara, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and confusion, which he then quickly substituted with anger. She could have called him Kingslayer and it probably wouldn't have stung as much. _Ser._ It was a title that most men throughout the Seven Kingdoms would be honored to receive; perhaps even be willing to die for, yet Jaime rather resented it more than anything else.

"Don't." He warned her with a shake of his head.

Sensing the raw hurt hidden beneath Jaime's budding anger, Mara quickly looked away as she finished setting the rest of the table.

 _"_ _Ser,"_ Jaime repeated her use of the title tauntingly. When he grew frustrated, he grew petty. If Mara hadn't already learned this about him in the hours they'd spent together the previous night, she would certainly be discovering it now. "Interesting usage for such a lowborn girl. Most just refer to me as 'm'lord' because they're too damn thick to realize I'm nothing of the sort."

It was true that in taking up a position as a Knight of the Kingsguard, Jaime had forfeited all rights to owning any lands or titles; yet he was often still referred to as a lord simply because his father was Tywin Lannister. Many forgot of his oath to both the King and the realm. Perhaps it was because he had previously broken one of the most sacred oaths of all, and so they didn't think him likely to stay true to the rest he'd sworn. While many people continued to make this mistake, he seldom went out of his way to correct their ignorance. Why? He couldn't say. Perhaps it was in spite of a hidden desire to be normal. Or at least as normal as a Lannister could ever be. Perhaps it was in spite of another far too obvious desire to please his father. Whatever the reason, he found it important to share this distinction with the handmaiden.

Clutching the remaining dinner cutlery in her hand, Mara shot him an enraged look. How dare he openly test her knowledge on such customs. She may have shared many stories with him; facts about her life and how she'd been raised, but that didn't mean he _knew_ her. That didn't mean he had any right to make assumptions about who she was or what she knew. In fact, nothing gave him the right to speak to her with such disregard. Not because he was highborn, a Knight of the Kingsguard, or even because he was currently a guest under the roof of a lord whom she had pledged herself to serve. _Nothing_ gave him the right to make her feel so small.

"Perhaps you shouldn't judge others' range of knowledge based solely on what you know of their upbringing, ** _Ser_** _._ "

 _Ah, there she is . . ._ Jaime thought silently, a look of fondness curving his lips.

The air thickened and pulsated between them, but both Jaime and Mara remained silent as they stared at one and other. They both had so much more to say to each other, that much was obvious, but where to begin?

Before any further words could be exchanged between the two however, Roose Bolton strode into the dining hall with Brienne of Tarth by his side.

"Ah, Marleya," He nodded his approval at the small feast laid before them. "Would you be so kind as to fetch our guests some wine?"

With his eyes still on Mara, Jaime clenched the fingernails of his left hand to his palm. The last thing he wanted to do was share a meal with Roose Bolton, but even more so now that he sensed a rage in Mara that was driving him mad. He didn't want her to have to take orders from this dull bastard; didn't want to let her out of his sight. Strange, how easily he seemed to forget that his fate was soon to be decided, and yet all he could concern himself with was what he could have possibly done to upset the young handmaiden.

With an obedient nod of her head, Mara turned on her heel and made off for the kitchens without so much as another glance back.

"I see my men have finally found you something appropriate to wear." Bolton commented, eyeing the ghastly pink dress his soldiers had managed to scurry up for Brienne from somewhere within the depths of Harrenhal.

"Yes, _most_ kind of them," Brienne replied smoothly. Taking a seat at the dining table along with Bolton and Jaime, she continued with one clear motive in mind: their release. "You're a Stark bannerman, Lord Bolton. I am acting on _Lady Stark's_ orders to return Jaime Lannister to King's Landing."

"When King Robb left Harrenhal his mother was his prisoner due to those orders. If she wasn't his mother he'd have hanged her for treason." Bolton replied matter-of-factly.

Briefly tuning out the tedious conversation, Jaime glanced back in the direction of the kitchens once more. What the bloody hell could he have possibly have done to make Mara's attitude towards him shift so abruptly? He hadn't seen her since the previous night in the bath chambers; hadn't had any opportunity to anger her even if he so wished it. What possible reason could she have to be so vexed with him? More importantly, _why the fuck did he_ care _what she thought of him?_

Visibly fuming, Jaime took a deep breath to calm himself. Perhaps that was what had gotten his temper so inflamed; the _not_ knowing, but he couldn't focus on that right now. All he could do was rack his brain for clues. There must have been something said. _Yes, that was it._ Something that Mara had overheard. Suddenly, he felt his stomach drop. Jaime was no fool, and with both he and his family's reputations it could have been any number of things that set her off . . . but more likely than not, one very particular rumor about himself . . .

"I should send you back to Robb Stark." Bolton sneered at Jaime, annoyed at the apparent lack of concern coming from his dinner guest.

Quickly remembering himself, as well as the situation at hand, Jaime casually lifted his knife and stabbed at another piece of meat. Bolton did not intimidate him, and he had no intention of letting the man think otherwise. It didn't matter that the Head of Harrenhal held him captive and could decide whatever it was he wanted to do with him. It didn't even matter that one of his soldiers had chopped off his sword hand. What mattered was that Jaime was a Lannister, and a lion did not concern himself with the opinions of sheep.

Bringing the knife to his lips, Jaime eyed it thoughtfully. "You _should_ , but instead you're sitting here; watching me eat dinner. Why might that be?" Pulling the meat off with his teeth, he chewed slowly as his gaze returned to Bolton.

"Wars cost money. Many people would pay a great deal for you," Bolton replied easily.

"We both know who would pay the most," Balancing his knife in his left hand, Jaime eyed it once more. He would have much preferred to have been carving the knife into Bolton's stiff neck rather than his supper, but alas, that would have to wait. "Or make _you_ pay the most if he found out you had captured me and sent me back up north for a summer execution."

"You're right. Perhaps the safest thing to do is to kill you both and burn your bodies." Bolton smirked at his alternative solution.

Sensing Brienne's distress at Bolton's suggestion, Jaime glanced to his side as the wench clutched her dinner knife, but quickly laid his hand over hers to keep her from making any rash decisions. "It would be, if you honestly believe my father would never find out about it."

"King Robb is keeping your father quite busy. He doesn't have time for anything else." Bolton challenged.

"He'll make time for you." Jaime replied evenly, the threat evident in his display as he narrowed his eyes at the man sitting across from him.

The bastard put up a good front, but Jaime knew he had him. At the core Roose Bolton was a coward; just like all the rest of the northern men. More importantly, Bolton was wasting Jaime's precious time with useless talk. They both knew what would be decided in the end. There was no other option; no other way out. Bolton could play his games; do his best to intimidate Jaime; to attempt to humiliate him in front of Brienne and the rest of his household, but it wouldn't work. The inevitable would soon come into play.

Finally, Bolton surrendered. "I will allow you to go to King's Landing as restitution for the mistakes my soldiers made, and you will tell your father the truth; that I had nothing to do with your maiming."

Eyeing Bolton closely, Jaime hesitated. The man was a cunt just like the rest of them, but he was smart; cunning. He would give him that. However, as of recently, Jaime's freedom was not the only thing that he was willing to bargain for.

As if on cue, Mara returned from the kitchens carrying a pitcher of wine, and once again, all of Jaime's thoughts returned to her. Raising his eyes to hers, he stood, allowing his hand to gently graze the small of her back before taking the pitcher from her with ease. "Allow me, my lady."

Locking her eyes onto Jaime's, Mara hesitated. The look on his face had changed since just a few minutes prior. His gaze was no longer wounded but instead amused, almost calculating. _What the hell is he playing at?_

Leaning across the table, Jaime made to pour Bolton some wine. "Shall we drink on it then?"

Quickly leaning forward, Bolton covered his goblet with his hand. "I don't partake."

"You do understand how suspicious that is to ordinary people?" Jaime questioned. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued without breaking stride, filling both his and Brienne's goblets instead. "Very well. However, those oafs you call soldiers _did_ do quite a number on me," Raising his stump as if to demonstrate further proof of this, Jaime slumped back into his chair dramatically. He could tell from the worried look in Bolton's eyes that the man would not object to any request Jaime made so long as he kept using his missing hand as collateral. "I will require a bit more time to rest before I resume my travels."

Although clearly displeased with Jaime's announcement, Bolton nodded once. "Of course."

Ignoring Brienne's obvious discomfort at this notion, Jaime glanced over at Mara, whom had since moved to stand behind her lord master with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. He could tell that on the inside she was squirming, yet on the outside she remained perfectly composed; ever the dutiful handmaiden. He already knew her well enough to know that she was furious with him for his games. Jaime had gotten a glimpse of the girl's cheek more than once since they'd met, and the thought that she would lay into him with that same fire after this afternoon's meeting did not fill him with a sense of dread, but rather a carnal desire.

"I will also require certain . . . _company_ throughout my visit." Jaime glanced to Bolton once more, a knowing look in his eye. They both knew this was not a request on his part.

Quickly understanding, Bolton remained silent for a few seconds before nodding his head once more. "Yes, well," Pressing his lips together, Jaime noticed the man was quite visibly annoyed by his demands, but would never dare to disagree with them. Glancing over his shoulder at Mara, Bolton continued in a soft, dangerous voice. "We at Harrenhal will go to whatever lengths necessary to make our guests comfortable."

Leaning back in his chair, Jaime could not help but grin; both from a mixture of pride at watching Bolton squirm under his command, as well as the knowledge that he would now be permitted to spend more time with his lovely little handmaiden. It didn't matter that Stannis Baratheon had just laid siege to King's Landing. His family was safe; according to Bolton's reports. While Stannis fled back to whatever rock he had crawled out from under, Robb Stark remained hidden beneath his mother's skirts, and the Targaryen bitch failed to make her impossible journey across the Narrow Sea, the Iron Throne would be safe. And until then, Jaime wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

 **A/N:** OH NO HE DIDN'T! ;) As always, reviews are much appreciated.


	3. Midnight Meetings

**A/N:** Thank you again for the feedback! It's always very much appreciated.

* * *

 **Midnight Meetings**

* * *

Soon after finishing his meal with Roose Bolton, Jaime had decided to take a victory stroll outside the castle walls. At this point, no one was stopping him. Not Bolton, nor Locke, nor any of his other pathetic little soldiers. Not after the meeting he'd just had to discuss the terms of his release. _His terms._ In a rather strange turn of events, the entire evening had developed into an incredibly comical affair that the Kingslayer continued to revisit over and over again. After spending so many months chained to a post covered in his own shit; being held prisoner under not only Robb Stark's watch but Roose Bolton's as well, it felt right that he should be able to cause the man so much discomfort under his own roof. Jaime was a Lannister after all; he was untouchable, and it was glorious to have finally returned to his rightful place of high standing.

Hours had passed before Jaime finally returned to the castle, the moonlight casting threads of silver along the moat he had to cross in order to enter Harrenhal. Although he'd had every intention of returning at a decent hour in order to get a good night's rest; his newfound freedom tasted much too sweet not to have taken advantage of. Instead he'd spent his evening touring the grounds, and although there was not much in the way to offer of decent sightseeing, he had stumbled across the tourney yard where he'd joined the Kingsguard under Aerys II Targaryen over twenty years ago. There he'd said his vows, donned his cloak and never thought to look back; not when it meant he got to spend the rest of his days with Cersei.

Memories of the weeks leading up to that fateful day came flooding back to him as he took in the sights. One night; upon returning to Casterly Rock after having been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, Jaime had gone straight to his sister. It was there that Cersei had persuaded him to join the Kingsguard in attempt to flee from his impending marriage pact with Lysa Tully. The wrath of their father was a fearsome thing; something that neither twin desired to bring forth, but with the promise of being together forever, he'd been more than willing to pay that steep price. After spending so many years apart; Jaime having been sent off to squire for Lord Crakehall at the age of eleven and Cersei accompanying her father to King's Landing as he served as Hand of the King, the eldest Lannister siblings were finally reunited during a night of passion. Truly, it had been as if Jaime had never left, and finally, with no one's prying eyes to dare keep them apart; they'd made love for the first time.

 _"_ _We'll be together forever . . . "_

Jaime remembered smiling into his sister's golden hair as she laid her head against his chest, plotting every action to perfection. Cersei was always one step ahead of him — she was always one step ahead of everyone, and she always knew just what to do. It was in that way that he not only loved his sister, but looked up to her as well. He'd longed to hear those words come from her lips since they were children, when they'd first started playing at being lovers, and now that he'd finally gotten what he'd desired for so long, there was no turning back. The only thing Jaime had believed in the entire world was Cersei, and the only thing he'd ever fought harder for was the chance to be with her.

 _"_ _We belong together, Jaime."_ He remembered feeling himself harden at her words alone, and so he had spent the rest of that night taking Cersei over and over again in their childhood bedchamber as she chanted those sweet words in his ear. _"We belong together, we belong together, we belong together."_

Late at night, when Robb Stark's soldiers had grown tired of guarding his prison cell; distracted by a whore who had been smuggled into camp or by some insipid drinking game the men had invented, Jaime would replay this moment over and over again in his mind's eye. It was the sweetest memory he had of Cersei; the night that he'd decided he would do anything if it meant they could be together. It didn't matter that they were brother and sister. Jaime had never cared what anyone thought of him; least of all the gods. If he was to be cursed for loving the one person who meant the world to him, he would live a cursed life and he would live it happily so long as it meant that he got to live it with her.

Of course, everything had gone to hell when their father learned of his son's plans to join the Kingsguard the very next day. Lord Tywin had been so enraged by Jaime's abrupt entry into the Kingsguard, as well as Aerys's open acceptance of his son, that he'd resigned from his position of Hand of the King and returned to Casterly Rock with Cersei in tow. The wound was further torn when Aerys chose to send Jaime back to King's Landing to guard Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys rather than let him compete in Lord Walter Whent's tourney at Harrenhal in celebration of his vows. It was then that Jaime realized the Mad King had no intention of honoring him with his position, but had rather used it as a way to rob Lord Tywin of his heir to Casterly Rock.

"Have you gone completely mad?" Brienne spat, suddenly pulling Jaime from his thoughts of the past by cornering him as he made his way through the front entrance of Harrenhal.

The abrupt arrival of Brienne threw Jaime off guard momentarily, but rather then let her know this, he quickly shook away all thoughts of the past and focused on the present. "You know pink really does suit you," He began, raising his hand to stroke the fluffy fur collar of her dress. "You should wear it more often."

Angrily slapping away his hand, Brienne growled. "Do that again and you'll be completely handless, Kingslayer."

Shrugging his shoulders with an air of nonchalance, Jaime continued down the corridor. It would take more than Brienne's sour mood to put him off his victory.

"Why are you doing this? We have to go to King's Landing to collect Sansa Stark and return her to her family. Or have you forgotten your sworn oath to Lady Catelyn along with all the rest?"

With gritted teeth, Jaime continued his stride despite the anger he felt rising within him from Brienne's words. The last thing he needed was another person besmirching his honor after years of hearing nothing of his accomplishments, but rather of what a dishonorable oathbreaker he was.

"I gave Catelyn Stark my word, and I will personally see to it that Sansa is returned to her lady mother," Taking a left turn down another corridor, Jaime shrugged his shoulders once more. "But why rush?"

" _WHY RUSH_?" Brienne shouted, her sapphire blue eyes shining with disbelief.

Glancing back and forth throughout the desolate halls, Jaime noted that they appeared to be empty, but was still unwilling to continue this conversation any further until he was absolutely certain. Grabbing Brienne's arm, he pulled her into his bed chambers and quickly closed the door behind them. Turning to face the woman once more, he raised an eyebrow as he watched her back up into a wall, quickly taking in her surroundings to check for any other possible exits should she need to escape.

"Please," Jaime scoffed at her. "I think we've both spent enough time together to know that I'm _not_ interested."

Watching as she looked away, Jaime made note of the brief look of hurt in Brienne's expression at his words, but just as soon as it had appeared, the look vanished and was covered once more by her usual surly pout.

"At the moment, there is no safer place for Sansa Stark than King's Landing," Raising his hand in attempt to keep Brienne from interrupting, Jaime proceeded. "If Stannis Baraethon's recent attack on the Red Keep isn't a clear indication of that, I don't know what is." Kicking off his boots, he walked over to the window and glanced down into the courtyard. "Besides, it is highly unlikely that my father has even been informed of my involvement with Roose Bolton. For all he knows, I'm still fighting my way through the wilderness by your side. He's in no position to allow any harm to come to Sansa Stark. After all, the girl is his only leverage now that her father and sister are out of the picture."

Fuming, Brienne shook her head. "But _why wait_? It's a long way back to the Capital as it is. Why stay here any longer than we have to now that we've been permitted to leave?"

At these words, Jaime hesitated. Truthfully, he had not yet come up with a reasonable defense as to why he wanted to remain in Harrenhal. If he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure _why_ he was taking such a risk to begin with. How could he admit something to Brienne that he wasn't even sure he was willing to admit to himself?

In truth, Jaime did not understand his interest Mara. She was nothing like Cersei. In fact, Cersei and Mara were polar opposites. Where Cersei was cruel and calculating, Mara was kind, and what was more; she knew how to make him laugh. This was something that no one but his little brother had ever been able to boast about. The two women were completely different, though they did share one thing in common: _Passion_. Cersei's passion had always lied in manipulation, being right and overall, her children. Mara's passions . . . well, Jaime couldn't quite say what the young handmaiden's passions were; not yet, but he knew she had them, and he knew that he was willing to risk his life in order to discover them.

"This isn't all for that bloody handmaiden, is it?" Brienne asked as if reading his mind, her voice quickly returning to the tone of disgust he recognized all too well.

Moving away from the window, Jaime took a step towards Brienne.

"Do you realize what an incredible position we're in right now?" Sensing her confusion, he sighed with annoyance at having to spell everything out for the woman. Although he'd just begun to work up this spur-of-the-moment plan in his mind, he made no indication that his words were coming straight off the cuff. "We are in _Roose Bolton's_ corridors. He fights for the Starks; he serves as Robb Stark's _right hand man_. If there's anyone who will be able to tell us what the North's next move is, it's _him_."

"And you think he's just going to willingly hand over that information?"

"Of course not, but there are too many gossiping mouths around this shithole to keep his secrets hidden for long."

As Brienne turned away, Jaime pressed his lips together, wondering if his explanation had made any difference to her. Although she had claimed to serve Lady Stark after Renly Baratheon's abrupt demise, it was clear that she would finally have to put her loyalties to the test with her next decision; whatever it may be.

"I do not intend to return to King's Landing empty handed — pardon the pun," Jaime added, glancing down at his right stump and smirking bitterly at the irony. "My word to Lady Stark remains solemn, but my family is still at war with hers. I've not forgotten that."

"So this is all for information," Brienne stated in disbelief.

 _"_ _Very important information,"_ He corrected her.

"I'll have no part in it."

"I thought you might say that," He began, moving over to his bed and plopping down on top of it. "By the way, have you heard who's currently visiting King's Landing?" He asked, watching as Brienne tried her best to feign little interest in his answer. Smoothing out the wool blanket beneath him, he cleared his throat importantly. "Margaery Tyrell, Loras Tyrell . . . the whole bloody lot of Tyrells, as a matter of fact. Word is, she's betrothed to Joffrey." Watching with slight amusement as Brienne's eyes widened in spite of his words, Jaime nodded. "I told you; there are many gossiping mouths around these parts. With the way Bolton's stable boy talks, I'll know everything I need know in a week's time."

As he leaned back against his mattress, Jaime kept his eyes on Brienne. It was cruel what he was doing to her, truly, but he had no other choice. Although he had not originally intended to go forth with such motives, now that he spoke of it; a stay at Harrenhal might very well give his family everything they needed to win this war.

"In any event, I'm sure Lady Margaery would be very grateful for any help we might be able to bring to her future husband; as well as to perhaps offer forgiveness for anything that may have happened in the past . . . "

The sorest spot for Brienne of course, was Renly. Jaime knew that, in fact, he depended on it. He was being a complete arse, toying with the woman's emotions like this, but he knew that if anything could seal the deal it would be the possibility of Brienne making amends to Margaery over Renly's untimely death. As treacherous as it was to play on Brienne's guilt, it was all he had; all that would ensure he could be granted more time at Harrenhal without her leaving his side.

Jaime could tell from the look in Brienne's eyes that he'd given her plenty to think on. Nodding his understanding, he pressed his lips together once more. "Mull it over, Brienne. Get back to me tomorrow with your answer. I think after all we've been through we both deserve a good night's rest."

With one last look at Jaime, Brienne stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest before making her way over to the door and leaving just as hastily as she had entered. While the Kingslayer had indeed brought up many interesting points, Brienne did take note of one very important thing: He had never denied that the handmaiden hadn't been one of the reasons behind his sudden interest in staying at Harrenhal.

* * *

 _"_ _MARA!"_

Looking up at the sound of her name being screeched from the kitchens, Mara gathered the remainder of freshly chopped wood that she'd spent the past half hour collecting from the grounds. All day the handmaiden of Harrenhal had done her best to keep her distance from both Lord Bolton and Jaime. After the discussion they'd shared over dinner, it was all too obvious that she was to act as a piece in the two men's games, and she wanted absolutely no part of it. Looking back, she cursed herself for being such a fool as to think that the time she'd spent with Jaime had meant something more to him. It was obvious that all the Kingslayer was interested in was a few moments of cheap entertainment; the kind she'd vowed to leave behind when she'd quit working at the brothel.

Indeed, Mara had spent the better part of her life being the object of men's affections, but the truth of the matter was, she wasn't an object. _She never would be_. The sooner both men learned this about her, the better. Although she had absolutely no qualms about defying Jaime, as she'd done so several times since first meeting him without a second thought, she did not know how much longer she would be able to defy Bolton without awakening his rage. The man was a monster, and his emotions were not to be toyed with. She'd spent the better part of the past few months seeing just what he did to those who disobeyed his orders.

 _Damn you, Jaime._

Mara scowled at thoughts of the alluring Kingslayer, clenching her fist so tightly around a single log that her knuckles had faded to a pale, chalky white. He had brought this onto her, he had openly thwarted Lord Bolton in front of both she and Lady Brienne; thus further igniting his hatred. But even as she cursed Jaime and tried to put the blame elsewhere, she knew deep down that it really had been only a matter of time before Bolton himself began his own approach towards her. In fact, if Mara was being completely honest with herself, she'd known that his advances had been coming since the moment he first clamped eyes on her.

"What is it?" Mara called, cradling the pile of wood against her front as she walked into the kitchens.

Snacking on some dessert that had been left over from the evening meal, Fiyona licked a glob of chocolate from her thumb, eyeing the younger girl closely as she sucked on her fingernail. "Lord Bolton wishes to speak with you."

Mara could tell that there was both a mixture of pity and jealousy in the woman's voice as she said these words. Bolton's staff had been around each other long enough to know exactly whom it was their lord master fancied, but as far as Mara was concerned, it was no competition in which she desired to win.

"Do you honestly think that I want this?" Mara shouted suddenly, all of her pent up frustrations of the day finally rising to the surface.

Lowering her hands to her hips, she glared at Fiyona, waiting for another quip or remark, but instead the cook grew silent in her growing rage. With a disappointed shake of her head, Mara sighed. She couldn't quite figure out whether the woman's silence was a good or bad thing, but had a feeling that she'd soon find out either way.

Setting the firewood down next to the hearth, Mara wiped her hands off on her apron before removing the piece of cloth from around her hips and hanging it up on a hook near the back door. The last thing she wanted to do was to end her day in Lord Bolton's presence. In fact, she would rather have been mucking out the stalls by Rand's side than face the bastard. Slowly making her ascent up the winding stone staircase, she climbed each step with an intense reluctance.

"Marleya, welcome," Bolton announced, rising from the chair in front of his fire place as he gestured for her to come forward. He'd waited for over an hour for the handmaiden to finish her chores, and although he was not a patient man, he found himself more pleased at the sight of her than anything else.

"Do you need more wood, my lord?" She questioned, taking a step back as if to return downstairs. Anything that would earn her more time; more opportunity to provide distance between herself and this vile man. "I've just collected some, I can return to the kitchens if you'd like . . . "

Shaking his head dismissively, Bolton continued to wave her forward. "I wanted to speak with you about the events that took place this afternoon. _Alone_."

Over the next few seconds, not a word was spoken from either of them. In fact, the only sounds emitting throughout her master's drafty chambers was the crackling of the fire as one of the logs split in two; a dash of embers spilling out along the wood. In attempt to avoid the impending conversation, Mara turned, looking anywhere save for directly at the man standing before her. This was exactly the conversation she'd worked so hard to avoid having, and now here it was, staring her right in the face. Whether Bolton noticed her reluctance or simply wasn't bothered by it, she couldn't be sure, though she suspected the latter.

"You haven't been in my employ for long, Marleya, but you're a hard worker and I can respect that."

Remaining silent, Mara listened as Bolton proceeded to praise her in her duties. Although she wasn't exactly sure why he thought it necessary to do so — the man never having shown her one ounce of gratitude in the past — she nodded her appreciation. "Thank you, my lord."

A tense silence remained between them as Mara felt Bolton's pale blue eyes watching her. His gaze made her feel uneasy, but she knew she had no choice but to remain standing exactly where she was. It was obvious that Bolton knew exactly what sort of position he was putting her in by summoning her to his chambers at such a late hour, and she knew that the bastard was enjoying every moment of it.

"Jaime Lannister," Bolton began, a sudden look of loathing taking over his cold features as he reclined in his chair.

Mara watched as Lord Bolton stared at the fire with a distant expression on his face; her unease growing as an unsettling silence ensued. While the next few minutes passed in agonizing silence, she grew even more weary. What did he mean to say? What was he planning? It had been such a long time since he'd last spoken, she wasn't sure whether or not she should perhaps leave and give him a moment to collect himself.

Finally breaking the awkward silence, Bolton continued. "I would have hoped he'd had learned his lesson about overplaying his . . . _position_ , yet here he is, making his usual demands like a spoilt child."

Another few eerily silent moments passed before Bolton made his next move. Carefully eyeing Mara, he watched her as she stood before the flames. The man liked having the handmaiden under his thumb to do with as he pleased, and he did not appreciate Jaime Lannister attempting to foil with the rules that he had set for his household. No man would toy with what was his; particularly not a spoilt southron knight who was known for his disloyalty rather than honor.

Rising from his chair, Bolton swiftly moved behind Mara, placing his hand on her shoulder and gripping it possessively.

At the sudden appearance of Lord Bolton behind her, Mara took a deep shuddering breath; using every last ounce of strength she possessed in resisting the urge to wince as she felt his calloused fingers digging into the back of her neck. She'd been anticipating this moment for some time, yet it did not make the experience any easier to cope with now that it was here.

"You will do whatever Ser Jaime asks of you," Moving his other hand to her waist, he pulled her body closer to his, his breathing ragged as he pressed his mouth over the shell of her ear. "But you will not forget _to whom you belong_."

With nowhere else to look, Mara was forced to stare at both her and Lord Bolton's reflections in the looking glass across the room as he held her forcefully against him. In a desperate attempt to hide her emotions, Mara swallowed down the misery she felt swelling in her chest, as well as the bile in her throat. This had been exactly why she'd left the brothel; to take away temptation from men who felt they could own her. A whore slept with a man for money, it was true, but the only thing Mara had ever sold was her body — her dignity was another thing entirely. She would not sell that for a thousand gold dragons; not to the lowly scum from her past, nor to the highborn men she had recently become entangled with.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Bolton growled, his voice thick with impatience as he stared into her dark eyes through their reflection.

Pressing her lips together, Mara closed her eyes in attempt to drown out the vision, as well as his words. She would not give up her dignity overall else, but for now she could do nothing but pretend that this was exactly what she had conceded to do. With another deep breath exhaled through her nose, Mara willed herself to nod her head obediently as she lifted her gaze once more to Lord Bolton's. This man would not break her, regardless of what he may think in spite of her response. _No one would break her._

Indeed, Lord Bolton would permit Jaime Lannister time to amuse himself with what was his; perhaps even find some amusement himself from the situation, but he would not allow anything more to happen without his consent. There were not many things he could find any source of pleasure in with the current war raging on, and Marleya was one of the few. As far as he was concerned, she was his, and not only did he find a sense of pleasure in that fact alone, but he also found it in knowing that he possessed something that Jaime Lannister desired.

Once seeing her defeat, Bolton let go of the young handmaiden, twisting his fingers around the curled ends of her long hair as a slow smile spread across his features. Mara could not remember ever having seen Lord Bolton smile before in the past, not once — nor was it a sight that she ever wished to see again.

* * *

 **A/N:** As always: F/F/R. I'd love to hear your input! :)


	4. Invitations

**A/N:** _I'm baaaaack!_

* * *

 **Invitations**

* * *

"Here." Fiyona muttered, pushing forth a tray filled with heaping piles of steaming breakfast foods.

Tentatively, Mara began to arrange the loaves of bread, plates of bacon, bowls of porridge and several different varieties of fruit around the tray. Although the handmaiden was well aware of Jaime Lannister's recent misfortune with the Starks holding him prisoner, feasting on this amount of food seemed rather excessive; even for a starved man.

"This is all for Ser Jaime?" She questioned, raising her curious eyes to the cook.

"It's what he requested, along with you being the one to deliver it." Lifting her cup of morning brew, Fiyona dropped a few sugar cubes in and began to stir it with a plump finger, her eyes trailing Mara suggestively. "Wonder why that might be."

Eyeing the older woman, Mara held her tongue. Fiyona had always enjoyed giving Mara a difficult time, but before it had always been in jest, now it was clearly fueled by cruelty. The desire to grab a rolling pin and smack the cook against the side of her head had filled the young handmaiden's veins more than once since arriving in the kitchens that morning, but she clenched her fists to her side and forced herself to remain silent instead.

"Quite an appetite, the Kingslayer has." Rand commented, making both Mara and Fiyona look up as he entered the kitchen reeking of manure.

"Indeed," Fiyona agreed, her eyes wandering back to Mara. "He's simply ravenous."

Collecting the tray of breakfast foods without another word to either of them, Mara pulled it forward; ignoring Fiyona and Rand's obnoxious chortles as she lifted it up and began to make her way towards the stairs.

"You know I heard rumors that you were a whore, Mara," The cook announced suddenly, staring at the young handmaiden with eyes shining. There was no fondness in them, not anymore. Instead it had been replaced by something cold and dead. "Never thought it was true."

"I did!" Rand stated proudly, grinning as he openly eyed Mara's body; ravaging her with his beady eyes.

With her back turned on the pair, Mara closed her eyes; fighting the urge to succumb to her rage and throw the breakfast tray at both their heads. Truly, there was nothing she could say in her defense. She could lie and deny it, but why go to all the trouble? She had been a whore; not for very long, but she'd still slept with men for coin, and if Bolton got his way he would soon be returning her to that same way of living.

After spending another few seconds remaining where she stood in the stairwell, Mara tried her best to shake off the shame she felt from Fiyona's words and continued up the corridor to deliver Jaime's breakfast.

"Mara," Jaime greeted her, a genuine smile spreading across his features when the young handmaiden knocked and entered his room.

Jaime knew that his chambers were probably the last place she wanted to be right now, but he couldn't resist indulging in every moment he had with the young woman. Being in the handmaiden's presence was the closest to happiness he'd felt in a very long time, and he intended to take full advantage of every second spent with her.

Over the past few days Mara had been avoiding Jaime. She would never flat out dodge him when he came to speak with her, but it was obvious that she didn't want to be near him. Although many men may have been discouraged, her treatment of him only increased his desire to get closer to her. Jaime had always enjoyed a challenge, and Mara was giving him a challenge worthy of his greatest sword fighting opponent.

Showing no real acknowledgement of his greeting, Mara stepped over to the small table by the window and set the breakfast tray down.

"Hungry this morning, are you?" She commented, nodding toward the platter of various breakfast foods arranged on the tray.

"I thought it would be kind to offer you breakfast as well," Stepping closer, Jaime gestured to the table. "Surely you can't get enough feeding on Bolton's leftovers."

Although it did seem that Jaime was merely trying to be courteous, Mara couldn't help but take the statement as a low blow to her current status. Did he honestly think that she wanted to work for Bolton; that she wanted to spend her days scrubbing floors and serving food to vile, gluttonous men? It just so happened to be the very last thing that she wanted, that is, next to being so tactlessly reminded about it.

"So very kind of you, _Ser,_ " Mara gushed with a slight curtsy, her every word dripping with sarcasm. "We lowborn girls are so rarely permitted to sup. Why, it's a wonder I'm even able to stand up straight without falling down!"

"Well if that ever happens to become the issue, my lady, you are of course welcome to my bed." Jaime replied with a smirk.

"Is that what you want from me? To be your whore?" She spat, that same fire that Jaime loved kindling deep within her eyes.

"Is there a particular reason why you hold such hatred towards whores?" Jaime asked, his interest suddenly piquing. Truly, she seemed most upset even by mention of the word, and it was not the first time in which he'd noticed it.

Marveling at his audaciousness, Mara shook her head in disbelief. "Were you not acting as the Stark's whore for the past year?" She replied, hardly missing a beat. "Tell me Jaime, did you enjoy the comparison?"

Hesitating, Jaime stared at her. Seven Hells she was smart, maybe even enough for her own good. If he had been anyone else that remark would have gotten her into a world of trouble. As it was, Jaime was not upset; in fact he was pleased that she had begun to feel comfortable enough to begin calling him by his given name again.

"Most women would jump at the chance for me to show such an interest in them." He stated simply.

"I'm not most women. _"_ Mara shot back with her same quickness.

Staring at her, Jaime smirked. Her words reminded him all too well of a time back at the Stark's camp when he'd traded words with Lady Catelyn and he'd told her that there were no men like him. _Only him_. While her words had made him think of himself, they also made him notice a fire within Mara that matched that of Ned Stark's wife; a fierceness that was not to be trifled with. Of course he'd seen more than this one side to the young handmaiden since arriving in Harrenhal, and he knew the disgust she felt towards him was newfound. He still had a chance to fix his mistakes with Mara, whereas with Lady Catelyn . . . well, he'd have been better off trying to reason with Rob Stark's direwolf.

Finally nodding his head in agreement, he continued in a gentle voice. "No, you're not."

Jaime obviously held a strong physical attraction to Mara. He'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to be interested, but he didn't want her for his whore. Not like that — _never like that_.

Lifting her hand to her mouth, she ran a finger over her bottom lip mindlessly; suddenly coming to the realization that she had just called Jaime by his first name. Wincing in spite of this recollection, as if in doing so she had lost a bet with herself, Mara groaned softly. "What is it that you want from me, Jaime?"

Wasting no time, Jaime strode forward, taking her face in his hand and pulling her close. "I want you to tell me why you can barely look at me," Gently forcing her chin upward, he inhaled sharply. "I want you to tell me what it is I've done to make you so disgusted with me." Stroking his thumb along her cheek, he hesitated as he stared into her sweet, honest eyes. "That night we spent together was the only time I've felt like myself in years . . . " Losing himself in the memories, he paused, then cleared his throat. He'd allowed himself to become vulnerable with her before, but this time he was clear of the fever and in complete control of his emotions. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the girl, he didn't want her to think he was some sort of nance.

Finally returning to his earlier thought, he continued in a gentle voice. "I think I know what it is, but I have to hear it from you _._ "

Mara had craved a physical closeness to match the emotional one she'd felt for Jaime since meeting him, and now that she finally had it she could feel her desire igniting; arching up in a desperate attempt for more. But she couldn't forget why she was upset; she couldn't let this brief moment of pleasure turn into anything more, not until she knew the truth.

"Are you in love with your sister?"

Jaime hesitated as he took in the severity of her question. So there it was. Of course those were the rumors that had driven Mara to become so upset. Even though being with Cersei seemed like a lifetime ago after what he'd been through, Jaime had to remind himself that it was a lifetime based on truth, not rumor. What Jaime said next meant everything; it would determine whether or not he would continue this relationship built on truth, or lies. Thus far Mara had received nothing but the truth from him, and he had relished in that fact. For the first time in ages Jaime had felt close enough to someone to allow himself to be vulnerable in front of them. He didn't want to give that up — he _wouldn't_ — but he couldn't tell her the truth either. There was no way she would understand. Nobody understood.

Gently releasing her, Jaime turned away for a brief moment. "I love my sister tremendously," He began, making sure to choose his words extremely carefully. After a few more seconds passed, he turned around to face her once more.

Keeping her eyes at level with his, Mara held her breath.

"And I love her just as any _brother_ should love his _sister._ "

Exhaling that same breath, Mara resisted the urge to fall down to her knees in relief.

Sensing the handmaiden's alleviation at his confession, the Kingslayer took a deep breath himself, but on the inside it chafed him. She had already become so trusting of him, and he had just told her a bold-faced lie. Jaime didn't want to lie to Mara; he didn't want to go any further not being completely honest with her, but she wouldn't understand, and if she didn't understand she would begin to hate him like all the rest. He couldn't have that.

"Then why stay in Harrenhal when you have a family to go back to? Why risk your life? Any number of things could happen to change Bolton's mind, Jaime. You're being foolish."

"You're the first person to show me kindness in seventeen years; the first person who's been honest with me," Jaime knew that everything Mara warned him of was true, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. In the past he had not been concerned with anyone else's needs but his own, but he was beginning to feel a shift in those motives. "I wanted to hold onto that — to hold onto _you_ — for as long as possible . . . I _still_ do."

"There's plenty of people who would show you kindness—"

"I prefer genuine kindness," He replied swiftly. "Seventeen years of nothing but people scoffing behind my back; glaring at me with such loathing. Can you honestly blame me for wanting the real thing?"

The truth was, she could not.

"Now it's my turn to ask you a question," Jaime began, his emerald eyes still locked on her almond colored ones. "Why is it so important? Why did you care enough to get to the bottom of a disgusting rumor that's been following me around for the past year?"

"Because . . . " Hesitating, Mara looked around the room helplessly. "Because I couldn't bear the thought of having spent so much of my time with a man who may have single-handedly started a war over such vile reasons. Because I needed to know that it wasn't true."

"But why? _Why do you care so much_?" Jaime asked desperately, gazing at her.

 _"I care."_ Mara stated, a look of finality in her eyes.

Slowly smiling, Jaime nodded his understanding. "Well, that makes two of us." Extending his arm towards the table once more, he continued. "Please, dine with me."

None of it made sense; their mutual trust in each other after knowing one and other for such a short amount of time, but Mara wasn't going to question it. They were finally getting back to that same place of comfort that they'd so seamlessly entered to begin with, and it was clear that they both needed it. For whatever reason, Mara trusted Jaime. It wasn't about safety; she didn't need anyone to protect her, it was something else entirely . . . something she had not yet discovered.

With that in mind, Mara took a step towards the table, smoothed out her skirts, and sat down.

"Do you enjoy working here?" Jaime asked casually, picking up a pitcher of water and pouring her a cup.

"Dream come true." Mara replied bitingly, picking up a ripe nectarine and rolling it around in the center of her palm.

Grinning, Jaime nodded his understanding. "My father once told me that Harrenhal was the greatest fortress ever built; the tallest towers and the strongest walls . . . now it's nothing but a sad, blasted ruin that should've been long forgotten." Picking at the bacon on his plate, he took a bite and chewed thoughtfully as he continued. "Bolton is a fool if he considers being anointed Head of Harrenhal an honor."

"Bolton is many things," Mara began in a soft, cautious tone, "But he is no fool."

Considering her warning, Jaime finished off his first piece of bacon and picked up another. "Did he give you any trouble last night, after our meeting?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Mara replied briskly, pressing the fruit to her lips.

Clenching his jaw, Jaime forced himself to swallow down the last bite of bacon he'd taken. He didn't want Bolton handling Mara, not at all.

Sensing Jaime's discomfort, Mara felt it best to change the subject. Taking a bite of nectarine, she then set it down on a plate. "How are you healing?" She asked, wiping her fingers off on a cloth napkin.

"I don't know," Jaime admitted, not having looked at his hand since the first day he'd arrived at Harrenhal. Truthfully, he'd tried to avoid it as much as possible.

"Let me see," She instructed softly, moving her hand to take his.

"This isn't a duty call, I asked you here to join me for breakfast," He muttered, attempting to hide his stump as he crossed his arms, but then flinching as he did.

Seeing that this rash movement had hurt him, she stood up from the table and moved to his side. "I'm not doing it out of any sort of duty, I'm doing it because I want to."

Ignoring his childish protests, Mara gently pulled his right arm forward, her long fingers slowly peeling away the cloth to reveal Jaime's maimed stump. Feeling her hand, the Kingslayer closed his eyes in shame. Although he had indeed found an ease with Mara that he'd yet to find with anyone else, there were still certain things he wasn't sure he could ever get used to.

Gently running her finger along his wrist, she saw that the angry red marks were beginning to heal, his flesh working its way to cover the bone of his wrist.

"You don't need to see this," He whispered roughly, attempting to pull his arm away once more when Mara clamped her hand down on it.

Keeping her eyes on his, she shook her head. "I'm not looking at _it_ , I'm looking at _you,_ " Tilting her head, she raised his chin with her other hand, forcing him to look at her. "And if you'd stop acting like such a child, you'd see that it's healing quite nicely."

Slowly breaking his gaze from Mara's, Jaime glanced down to find that she was right. Of course he hadn't miraculously grown his hand back, but Qyburn had done a tremendous job purifying and stitching the wound back together.

Calmly looking down at her in amazement, Jaime couldn't help but smile. After a few seconds spent indulging in the feel of her hand, he shook his head. "Still, I suppose I can kiss being a Knight of the Kingsguard goodbye."

Leaning back to look at him, Mara frowned. "Why?"

"Well, my lady, it may have escaped your attention, but I appear to be missing my sword hand . . . "

Rolling her eyes, Mara stood to collect a roll of fresh bandages from Jaime's bedside table. "Now I know I'm merely a simple, lowborn handmaiden . . . " Catching Jaime's eye, she smirked as the same expression graced his lips. "But I _do_ know that it only takes one hand to wield a sword."

"What are you proposing?" He asked curiously.

"I just think it's foolish of you to presume you're no longer able to handle a sword. You still have a hand," Kneeling back down beside him, she slid her fingers through his and raised his hand in her own as if to prove this. "See?" Brushing her thumb across his knuckles, she smiled. "So use it."

Gently squeezing Mara's hand into his own, Jaime felt his lips beginning to twitch into something of a smile, but then shook his head dismissively. "I can barely feed myself with my left hand, let alone use it to protect the king. I can hold a sword, but all of my instincts are wrong."

Taking Jaime's right arm once more, Mara began to gradually wrap the fresh bandages around his wrist. "Funny, I was under the impression that Jaime Lannister indulged in challenges."

Keeping his gaze on Mara, Jaime felt himself faltering. The woman had known him for little over a week now, and yet she appeared to know him better than himself. Such a kind, intelligent, vivacious woman did not deserve to be hidden away in some desolate castle in the north.

"You don't belong here," Jaime said suddenly. Sensing her confusion, he continued. "In Harrenhal."

"Where do I belong?" She asked slowly, tucking the end of the bandage beneath his wrist.

"I haven't quite figured that out yet," He admitted.

Standing once more, Mara brought her eyes level to Jaime's, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Well, be sure to let me know when you do."

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed this latest update. I apologize that it took me so appallingly long to post, but I finally found my muse again with last night's premiere. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I always find it helps me with the progression of the story! :)


	5. Dueling Desires

**A/N:** It appears my muse is back and here to stay, yay!

* * *

 **Dueling Desires**

* * *

One of Mara's favorite places to spend her time had always been the market. Of course what passed for a market in Harrenhal was a few meager stalls that had been haphazardly lined up not far from the stables, and there was rarely anything of value to be found. Still, it reminded her of a simpler time when her life hadn't taken on so many obstacles; so many hardships. The irony was truly something considering how many nights she had lain awake praying for something extraordinary to happen to her, to take her away from her simple life spent on the farm with her family. Had Mara known then what was bound to happen to her mother and father, she would have taken back every last prayer and cursed them all to the Seven Hells.

Waking from her slight reverie at the sound of clashing steel, Mara collected her basket and hurried toward the tiltyard to find Brienne of Tarth practicing her sword fighting. Mara had never lain eyes on such a woman before. She was taller than any man she'd ever known and unless her eyes deceived her, just as strong. Although she did not possess much grace in person, she seemed completely at ease with a sword in her hand. In fact it almost appeared that she was performing a dance. With her eyes trailing her, Mara smiled. She couldn't help but admire the woman. There was so much that she had no doubt been through throughout her life in order to get to the place she was now. How could anyone _not_ admire her?

Feeling a pair of unfamiliar eyes on her, Brienne looked up to find the brunette handmaiden watching her.

"Can I be of service to you?" She snapped, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted.

"Oh, no, I just . . . " Raising her hand, Mara was just about to make her apologies for interrupting and quickly depart, when a sudden thought occurred to her. "Well yes, actually . . . perhaps you can."

"Are you interested in sword fighting?" Brienne asked in disbelief.

"It does interest me, yes, but I was actually asking on behalf of Jaime."

"Why are you concerning yourself with what Ser Jaime needs?" Brienne wondered aloud, clearly taken by surprise. While doing so, she also took note of the younger woman's casual use of the Kingslayer's name, and wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"I realize that the likelihood of Jaime ever asking for your services himself is . . . " Her words trailing off, Mara hesitated. They both knew what she meant. Jaime was stubborn as hell, there was no need to say anymore. He would never ask and in fact he would be appalled that Mara was asking in his place, but that wasn't going to stop her. "But I know he thinks you're an incredible fighter. He would be honored to be trained by you, even if he didn't show it."

"And how do you know that?" Brienne spat, raising her brows suspiciously.

"Because he told me of how you protected him on the Kingsroad," Stepping closer to Brienne, Mara placed a friendly hand on the larger woman's arm. "You were his strength through it all. He wouldn't have made it this far without you."

Although Brienne was indeed flattered by Mara's words, she couldn't be sure if the woman was being honest about Jaime's feelings, or whether she was simply saying this to mold things to her own benefit.

"Why do you care so much about Jaime's training?"

"Because it's all he knows and he's desperate to return to it," Mara admitted, "Because I care for him and I can sense that you care for him as well. Please consider helping him, Brienne. He needs it, but we both know he's too damn proud to ask you himself."

Glancing down at the young woman's hand, Brienne hesitated. Jaime had never told her such things, but she'd never expected him to either. Truth be told, she knew that he would need proper training in order to continue on with his position on the Kingsguard. But could he ever return to being the sword fighting champion he'd been before losing his hand? There really was no way to be sure, but she was at least confident in her ability to get him back to fighting halfway decently again.

"I'll consider it."

Smiling her gratitude, Mara lowered her hand to squeeze Brienne's into her own. "Thank you."

* * *

"Get up," Brienne grunted, tossing one of Jaime's heavy boots straight into his face.

"Fuck!" Jaime exclaimed, sitting up in bed to find the towering length of Brienne standing over him.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the headboard. "Gods, you're a frightening sight to wake up to."

Ignoring him, Brienne went over to the window and spread the curtains wide, earning another shout of profanity from Jaime.

"You told me to get back to you once I've made my decision, and I have. I'll stay in Harrenhal for another week at most, but only to help you get back up on your feet," Turning to face Jaime once more, she continued without breaking stride. "Then we will both return to King's Landing to see your sworn oath to Lady Catelyn through."

Jaime shook his head. After taking a boot to the face, he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. "What are you talking about?"

"You've lost your sword hand, you're a cripple," Brienne stated the obvious, earning a look of seething hatred from Jaime. "I need someone capable of guarding my back on the long journey to the Capital, and right now, that isn't you."

Brienne had no interest in telling Jaime the truth, that she felt sorry for him, that perhaps she did see his kindness lurking beneath the surface, and perhaps that kindness could blossom with the handmaiden's help. She honestly didn't know what laid in Jaime's future, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't noticed a change in the Kingslayer over the past week.

"I won't wait around all day. _Hurry up_."

Turning away, Brienne exited Jaime's bed chambers, leaving him to stare after her.

* * *

"This is fucking pointless." Jaime snarled, throwing his sword down onto the ground, signaling his defeat.

The two opponents had been at it for several hours now and Jaime had grown tired of being made a fool of. He'd always been a sore loser, but he became particularly sore when losing to a woman.

"You're pathetic," Brienne spat, shaking her head with disgust. "Let me know when you're serious about returning to your place on the Kingsguard."

Tossing her sword down beside his, Brienne turned and hurried away from the tiltyard, brushing past Mara as she did.

The young handmaiden had seen the look of disappointment in Brienne's eyes as she left, and she couldn't even think to blame her. How could anyone tolerate being treated in such a way? Feeling her anger mounting, Mara raised her skirts and hurried over to where Jaime had propped himself up against a tree.

"Why are you treating her so harshly?" Mara demanded, glaring at Jaime with a look of utter disapproval. "She's clearly trying to help you!"

"She's annoying me," He replied simply.

"And that's how you treat people who annoy you?"

"If you've just come to lecture me over my bloody manners . . . " Raising his left hand, Jaime snapped his thumb and forefinger together, as if something important had suddenly occurred to him. "Ah, perhaps that's it! Perhaps you should be a septa." Tilting his head, he narrowed his eyes. "Are you a woman of good faith, Lady Thaller?" Smirking at his own cleverness, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, a shallow pool of sweat lining the inside of his palm. "Tell me, do you worship the Old Gods or the New?"

Ignoring his clever remarks, Mara picked up the sword that Brienne had left behind.

"What are you doing?" He asked, staring at her curiously.

Jaime had grown irritable throughout the day, both over the fact that he could no longer wield a sword, as well as the fact that he had lied to Mara about Cersei. The lies had been keeping him up at night and his frustrations grew further when Brienne had shown him up in the tiltyard. But the moment he came in contact with the young handmaiden, he quickly remembered why it had been a sacrifice he'd been willing to make. She was well worth it.

"What do you think?" She shot back, gripping the pommel of the sword tightly.

"Do you honestly think you're going to teach me how to sword fight?"

"No, you prick," Raising the sword, she smirked. " _You're_ going to teach _me,_ and by teaching me . . . " Extending her weapon, she playfully thrust it out in his direction.

"I'll reteach myself." Jaime finished her thought, understanding.

Nodding with a sly smile, Mara continued. "Exactly."

Oddly enough, Jaime did not refuse Mara's proposal. Everything else had failed at this point, so why not give it a try? There was really no harm in it, and if nothing else it would at least earn him some more time with her.

"Alright, my lady, I'll show you but it's going to be grueling work, not for the faint of heart," Flexing his jaw, he continued with a smirk. "Hours and hours of sweat, sore muscles, aches and pains . . . "

Rolling her eyes, Mara mimed sticking her finger down her throat to show him just what she thought of his impressive words.

Grinning at her display, Jaime stood up from his lounging position. "The first thing you have to master is your stance," Taking a few steps closer, he moved behind Mara, placing his hand on her waist. "You've got to feel it here." Pressing his fingertips down over her hip, he applied more pressure, his eyes watching her closely from where he stood behind her.

Breathing steadily, Mara silently compelled herself not to get too excited over their sudden proximity. But it was difficult, as it seemed every time she got close to Jaime that same flame burst inside of her, burning; consuming . . .

"Stance, right, got it." She nodded her understanding.

Watching her silently, he rubbed his lips together. For a fleeting moment he was left wondering what should come next because all he really wanted to do was stay close to her. Quickly remembering himself, he stepped out in front of her, leaning down to collect his own sword. It felt so strange to hold it in his left hand, but he knew that it was something he would have to get used to. Mara was right, he had a hand; he needed to use it.

"Alright, let's begin."

Over the next several minutes, Mara could see Jaime's self-confidence building as he explained each step of sword fighting to her. Knowledge and power radiated off of him, and she couldn't help but indulge in it. He was finally coming into his own again, and as arrogant as Jaime could be, Mara was pleased to see that he was beginning to have faith in himself again.

"So, what, like this then?" Reaching out, Mara half-heartedly jabbed her sword toward his, a light clash of steel against steel sounding in the air.

Grinning, he shook his head. "You've got to pivot as you deliver the stroke," Moving forward, Jaime demonstrated for her. "Throw your weight into it."

Nodding as she observed Jaime's teachings, Mara took his advice and raised her sword, delivering the stroke just as he had explained.

Truly impressed, Jaime nodded. "Better."

Bending his elbow, Jaime swung his sword out at her once more, raising his eyebrows when Mara succeeded in blocking it with her own swift movement. " _Very_ good."

"And all in skirts, no less!" Mara smirked, performing a tiny curtsy as she whipped around, holding her sword out once more.

Grinning, Jaime came close, delivering yet another cut to her sword and causing it to go flying out of her hands. Moving closer, he held his sword outstretched toward her. "This is the part where you yield." He explained.

"And if I don't?" She countered, her dark eyes flickering from his sword to his face.

Staring at her, Jaime hesitated. For once he did not have a clever retort to toss back at her.

Smiling in spite of her own personal achievement, Mara grew even more excited by Jaime's. "That was a very impressive parry, Ser," Bowing her head, she sighed. "I suppose I yield . . . _for now._ "

Suddenly realizing that he had just held onto his own for a brief amount of time, Jaime couldn't help but revel in his achievement. The sword in his left hand was becoming more familiar with time. It was a small victory, but it was something.

 _"For now?"_ Jaime questioned.

Quickly stooping down to collect her sword, Mara raised it once more. "Come now, you don't think I'm going to just let you get away with that, do you?"

Grinning, Jaime balanced his sword in his left hand, liking the feel of it more and more. "I wouldn't dream of it, my lady."

* * *

After the two had dueled for the better part of the afternoon, Jaime caught Mara around the waist and pulled her into the stables to have a few moments away from prying eyes. All day they had been the topic of conversation as the people of Harrenhal watched them together. When Jaime really thought about it, he couldn't blame them. It was likely a humorous sight; the cripple and the handmaiden.

"You're a fast learner," Jaime observed, eyeing Mara suspiciously as she ran a hand over the long braid she'd swept her hair up into just before they'd begun their practice. He couldn't help but take notice to the fact that she seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him altogether.

"I suppose so." She replied at last, something of a smile flickering across her features for a fraction of a second before disappearing just as quickly. Pulling her hair loose of the braid, she ran her fingers through the silky strands.

Suddenly, realization dawned on him. "This wasn't your first time practicing with swords, was it?"

Opening her mouth as if to defend her honor, she stopped suddenly, biting down on her bottom lip instead. "Perhaps not . . . "

Staring at her in amazement, Jaime let out a sudden bark of laughter.

"I told you, I grew up on a farm! There wasn't much to do for entertainment, my father's stable boy and I used to play at it." Mara grinned wickedly, quickly succumbing to Jaime's laughter herself.

"Is there anything else I don't know about you?" He asked, his face shining with astonishment.

"Why, of course there is," Mara replied, a coy smile spreading across her lips.

Gods, she was so incredibly beautiful and tempting in that moment — she always had been — but especially now with sweat glistening on her brow and roses in her cheeks. Jaime had been at war with himself for days in his desperate attempt to keep himself from acting inappropriately with her. Never before had he craved anyone's approval — _never_ — but for Mara he was absolutely desperate for it.

"So I'm to believe that you lied to me in order for my training to be successful?"

"Lying is such a harsh, unnecessary word," Shrugging her shoulders, Mara smirked. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

Grinning, Jaime shook his head in disbelief. He had never had someone do something so selfless for him. It was an incredible gesture, truly, but at the same time it made him long for his past. Why did the gods despise him so much that they'd made him meet Mara under such circumstances? Why couldn't it have been sooner?

"I wish you'd known me when I was at my best," Jaime admitted quietly, his gaze wandering away, avoiding her own.

Frowning at Jaime's words, Mara moved closer. Touching her hand to his face, she grazed his jaw with her fingertips. "I _have_ known you at your best."

Gazing at Mara once more, Jaime made his decision then and there. Although they had known each other for only a short amount of time, it had still been far too much time that he hadn't spent worshipping her. He needed her now, more than ever. More than Cersei, more than his father's approval, more than anything he'd ever desired in his entire bloody life.

"We can't do this," She said suddenly as if reading Jaime's thoughts, causing him to pause just as he leaned forward.

"It's already done," He whispered throatily, encircling her waist with his right arm and tugging her down into the hay with him.

Capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, Jaime delighted in the sound of Mara's soft moans of protest, mentally counting the seconds before they turned to moans of pleasure instead. _One . . . two . . . three . . ._ The kiss was desperate and furious, an outpouring of frenzied passion that had consumed them both for days now, locked away inside; unable to be free . . . until now.

Twisting his fingers through her hair, Jaime gently tipped her head back, angling his lips lower as he placed kiss after urgent kiss upon her neck and collarbone. Her sweat tasted sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted in his life, and if the rest of her bared any semblance to what he'd delighted in so far, he would spend the rest of his days obsessing until he could feast on every last part of her.

Voluntarily leaning her head back, Mara closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling as her heart rate quickened with each new kiss. Jaime's lips had taken possession of her body and every new touch felt like a hot flame, bursting onto her skin.

"Jaime . . . " Mara spoke his name softly, no longer in protest, only in longing.

Hearing her call out to him was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, and it only encouraged him to go further. Moving his hand along the bodice of her dress, he brought his attention next to her ample breasts, pressing his lips over each mound of smooth, soft flesh that peeked out from her neckline. Arching back into Jaime's arms, Mara gasped, savoring the feeling of his mouth on her body.

Hearing the sounds of something rustling a few feet away from them, both Jaime and Mara looked up to find the stable boy watching from where he'd attempted to conceal himself behind a tower of hay. Narrowing her eyes, Mara noticed that Rand had caused this rash movement by trying to unbuckle his pants.

Hurrying away, Rand bolted from the stables like the coward he was.

Panting heavily, Jaime squeezed Mara's waist gently, attempting to pull her forward for another kiss when she tilted her head to the side.

"What? The little letch is gone now. Don't let it ruin this," He pleaded, rubbing small circles over her hip.

"I can't," She gasped, shaking her head. "It shouldn't be here anyway."

Falling back against the stable floor, Jaime sighed in defeat. Staring up at Mara as she hovered over him, he licked his lips. As much as he wanted her now and always, he knew that she was right. He couldn't take her in a barn like a common whore. She deserved so much better.

"I have to go, supper will need tending to . . . "

Making to get off of him, Jaime caught her once more around the waist. "That's why there's a cook." He explained.

With a smile, Mara shook her head once more. She couldn't abandon her duties, that would only give Rand and Fiyona more to gossip about.

"I'll come back to you," She promised, leaning forward to press another kiss to his lips, her dark hair fanning out, surrounding them both. With each eager stroke of his tongue, Mara laughed softly into the kiss, knowing full well that Jaime was attempting to use his mouth to keep her right where she was.

"When?" He demanded as she finally managed to escape his embrace.

Standing up, Mara swept her fingers through her hair, pulling away spare bits of hay that had wound their way between the strands.

 _"_ _MARA!"_

Hearing her name coming from the kitchens, she glanced over in that same direction. Rand had obviously gotten back to Fiyona by now and had likely reported everything he'd seen.

 _"When?"_ Jaime repeated impatiently, reaching up to take her hand when she playfully spun away from him.

"Now, what fun would it be if I told you that?" With one last parting smirk, Mara hurried off, her skirts flying behind her as she ran back to the castle.

Jaime could hear Mara shouting back to the cook in the distance, but couldn't quite make out the words. Lying back down in the hay, he stared up at the ceiling, breathless. Now that he'd had a taste of her, it was clear he would never get enough. Before it had been speculated, certainly, but now he knew with the utmost certainty . . . Mara didn't belong in Harrenhal, she belonged with _him_.

* * *

 **A/N:** While I've received many follows/faves over the past couple weeks, I've hardly gotten any reviews. Let me know what you think, will you? It'll help me decide whether or not I should continue.


	6. Bedroom Hymns

**A/N:** Thank you for all of your kind words! I truly appreciate them and will definitely be continuing on with this story.

* * *

 **Bedroom Hymns**

* * *

"That little fuckin' whore!" Fiyona exclaimed in disbelief, shaking her head as she pounded her fists against a large mound of dough.

True to his reputation, Rand had hurried straight to the kitchens to share his latest gossip with the cook upon catching Mara with the Kingslayer in the stables. Of course, he'd made his embellishments in order to make the story even more entertaining, which relied heavily on distasteful lies about Mara. Rand had always gone out of his way to earn her attention, but now that it was clear she only had eyes for Jaime Lannister, he had become increasingly bitter.

"It's true, they was rollin' round in the hay like a couple'a dogs in heat," He announced, chuckling somewhat sorely under his breath.

"I suppose you wished it was you, eh?" Fiyona commented, rolling her eyes as she gave the dough another wallop.

Picking at a plate of something that smelled nearly as foul as he did, Rand shrugged his shoulders in what he considered an indifferent fashion, but which Fiyona and anyone else who happened to be paying attention could see right through. "The way she's givin' it up, I reckon it won't be long before I get a taste for m'self."

"Is that venison I smell?"

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Fiyona and Rand both raised their gazes to find Jaime Lannister entering the kitchens through the back door. Rarely did anyone of importance ever venture into the kitchens, and if for some strange reason they did happen to, they certainly didn't use the servants' entrance.

Scrunching his upper lip in distaste, Jaime shook his head. After spending an entire month journeying to Winterfell and eating nothing but the dreaded meat during his travels, he'd grown to hate the dish that so many others deemed a delicacy.

"I don't like venison."

Hurrying forward, Fioyna bowed her head, then remembering herself, quickly offered a feeble attempt at a curtsy instead. "That's just one of many dishes I can prepare for you, m'lord!" Flashing him a toothy smile, she nodded vigorously. "I've got suckling pig, partridge, and quail too! I can fry 'em up, cook 'em in a stew — anythin' you like, m'lord."

"I'm not _your lord_ ," Jaime growled, quickly dismissing the cook as he strode past her, making his way straight for the stable boy.

Straightening up from where he'd stood perched against the butcher's block, Rand swallowed down the handful of food he'd just shoved into his mouth, trying not to look like he was approximately two seconds from shitting his breeches from being in such close proximity to the Kingslayer. It didn't matter that Jaime Lannister no longer possessed his sword hand. He was still a Lannister, and in Rand's eyes, he was terrifying.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Jaime asked with a slight grin. "She's certainly something, isn't she? The only thing of beauty you're like to see in this great giant shithole, I'd wager. Can't say I'd blame you for showing an interest."

"Yes, m' . . . " Hesitating as he remembered how the Kingslayer had disliked Fiyona referring to him as a lord, Rand nodded enthusiastically. "Y-yeah, yes, she is." Encouraged by Jaime's words, the stable boy beamed. "Tell me, Ser," Glancing around the kitchens to make sure they were still alone, he continued with a wide grin. "Does she _feel_ as good as she looks?"

Swinging his left arm out, Jaime scattered a pile of plates to the floor on his way to grab Rand around the neck, earning a loud series of screeches from the cook as she backed away towards the door. "You'll never know," He hissed between clenched teeth. "And if you ever think about taking that little worm of a cock out while you're anywhere _near_ her again, I'll slice it clean off." Pressing his thumb down over the boy's larynx, he applied a dangerous amount of pressure. "Understand?"

Nodding urgently, Rand coughed and sputtered as Jaime finally released him, falling into a nearby table before dropping to the floor. Jaime stared down at the stable boy for a moment before narrowing his eyes at the cook. She was just as much of a dumb, gossipy bitch as the stable boy, and although he had never hit a woman in his life he glared daggers at her, letting her know that he would no longer be opposed if she continued to spread filth about Mara.

Once leaving the kitchens, Jaime descended to the bathing chambers. He'd hoped he might have been able to find Mara there, but knew she was probably off doing some errand or another to prepare for supper. Over the past week Roose Bolton had been a surprisingly dutiful host, making sure that his guests were well fed and seen to properly. Jaime had no doubt that tonight would be any different, and while he knew that most guests would be appreciative of such service, he loathed it because he knew it only succeeded in keeping Mara away from him for longer periods of time.

By the time Jaime returned to the dining hall a little over an hour later, the rest of his party had arrived. The table was lined up with various dishes, none of which, he was pleased to learn, smelled of venison. Catching Mara's eye as she set the table, he flashed her a knowing smile. How long was she going to torture him before she paid him another visit? The waiting was driving him mad, but he'd never surrender. He would play her games, hell, he would _win_ them. Jaime had always been a man to see through what he set his mind to, and being with Mara was no different. At the same time, the young handmaiden had become so much more than a game to him. Truthfully, his feelings for her were bordering on obsession.

"I trust you're finding your accommodations comfortable," Bolton addressed Jaime from across the dining table once everyone had sat down to supper.

Picking at his plate of food, Jaime nodded his response, his eyes still on Mara. "Fairly adequate, yes."

Attempting to brush off Jaime's obvious slight towards his household, Bolton cleared his throat in attempt to recapture the Kingslayer's attention. His eyes had been on the handmaiden all night, and he didn't appreciate the man's callousness. "As you may or may not be aware, I will be traveling to the Twins to attend Edmure Tully's wedding tomorrow."

Detecting a hint of anger in Bolton's voice, Jaime kept his expression impassive. He could tell that his host was trying to goad him into leaving Harrenhal before he left for his travels. "Can't say that I was, I've been a bit preoccupied as of late," Jaime admitted, his eyes wandering back over to Mara as she stood silently behind Bolton. "Please do let Robb Stark know that the Lannisters send their regards."

"I'll be sure to do that," Bolton replied with a slight bow of his head. "You're feeling better?" He continued, taking a sip of water from his goblet. "Many took notice to your training today, myself included." Glancing over at the handmaiden, he narrowed his eyes as he nodded towards his goblet, signaling for her to see to it.

Feeling herself stiffen slightly in spite of Lord Bolton's words, Mara forced herself to keep her gaze away from Jaime as she hurried to collect a pitcher of water. She could feel him watching her as she stood just a few feet away, but didn't dare show him the attention he desired, not with Bolton staring at her with his steely gaze.

"Yes," Jaime finally replied, stabbing a roasted potato and raising it to his lips. "I thought it might be prudent to partake in a bit of practice before I begin my journey back to the Capital."

Although his attention rarely swayed from Mara as of late, Jaime had noticed that Brienne was absent from dinner tonight. After all, she was a rather hard woman to miss. He assumed she was most likely still pouting over how he'd treated her during their training session earlier that day. Bearing that in mind, Jaime made a mental note to seek her out later and to perhaps apologize for his rudeness. Apologies were not something that Jaime Lannister willingly gave, but Mara had said he'd been harsh. Perhaps she was right. More and more, Jaime became amazed at what the clever little handmaiden managed to get him to do. Truly, she seemed to have an effect on him that no one had ever mastered before.

"Is the great Jaime Lannister doubting his prowess with a sword now?"

Gritting his teeth as he chewed his dinner, Jaime picked up his own goblet and drained its contents. "Not doubtful, no," He replied smoothly, setting his empty drink back down on the table. "But there are bound to be several enemies along the Kingsroad," Narrowing his eyes at Bolton, he continued in a dark voice. "Several _more_ enemies, that is. Doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Quickly catching onto Jaime's meaning, Bolton cleared his throat. He did not like being reminded of the mistake his bannermen had made when transporting Jaime and Brienne to Harrenhal, and Jaime knew as much. It amused him, watching Bolton squirm at the thought of what could happen between now and the time that Jaime arrived back in King's Landing. Perhaps he'd tell Lord Tywin a completely different tale from the one he'd agreed upon with Bolton. Whatever he decided, Bolton knew his treatment of Jaime whilst he continued to stay in Harrenhal would surely be the Kingslayer's deciding factor on the matter.

Once serving Bolton another goblet of water, Mara moved to the small table located at the back of the room to collect another pitcher, this one full of wine. Stepping towards Jaime, she stood by his side as she leaned forward, filling his goblet with more of the fine vintage he liked. Looking up, Jaime's eyes met Mara's briefly before he caught her free hand in his own, stroking the smooth skin of her palm beneath the table. Smiling inside of her cheek, the handmaiden bowed her head toward Lord Bolton before returning to the kitchens to serve the next course.

Not missing the exchange between Jaime and his handmaiden, Roose Bolton cleared his throat once more. "Yes, well, you are of course welcome to stay in Harrenhal as long as you need."

Openly following Mara with his eyes as she sauntered away, Jaime smiled. "Your generosity will not be forgotten, Lord Bolton."

* * *

Hearing a knock, Jaime stood from his bed and quickly crossed the room. Opening his chamber door, he grinned down at Mara as he found her standing behind it, smiling up at him. Reaching forward, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her body flush against his, closing the distance between them. "That was the longest bloody dinner I've ever had to sit through," Pressing a kiss to her neck, he murmured softly against her soft skin. "And I've been to a forty-course wedding feast, mind you."

"Of course it was," Leaning her head back, Mara giggled softly as she felt Jaime beginning to suck the soft flesh of her pulse point into his mouth. "Bolton's onto us, he's obviously trying to keep us apart as long as he can."

"I don't give a fuck who's onto us," Sliding his hand down her lower back, he clawed at the coarse material of her dress, feverishly working the laces apart between his fingers. "I don't care if the whole fucking world knows."

"Tell me how you _really_ feel," She teased, pressing her hands to his chest and stepping forward as she touched her lips to his jaw once, twice, three times before pressing another gentle trail of kisses along a pathway up to his ear. "By the way, _this is the part where you yield_. . . "

Gently pushing Jaime down onto the bed, she smirked as he tossed his head back against the pillows, chucking loudly. "Can't say I've ever yielded to anyone so willingly before."

Parting his legs to move between them, Mara slid down to her knees, tugging off his boots one by one. "To be fair, I didn't really leave you with much of a choice. I'm a very determined opponent, you see."

Standing once more, Mara removed her work dress, then gradually moved onto her shift; slowly allowing the material to slip down past her breasts, waist and thighs until it landed in a pool of cloth at her feet. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable with a man. In fact, Mara had gone as far as to swear that the next time she was it would be by her own choice; on her own terms. The young handmaiden had spent far too much time with men she didn't care for; too many nights spent doing things she felt ashamed of in the morning . . . But being with Jaime, that was something she would never allow herself to be ashamed of.

Staring at her in awe, Jaime took a deep breath as he felt his pulse increase, his erection stirring relentlessly against the restricting material of his trousers as he swept his eyes over the length of her. For a man who was known to fire away clever retorts just as quickly as he delivered strokes of his sword, he was left completely speechless by the sight in front of him. Mara was beautiful in every sense of the word, standing before him as bare as her name day. Her skin was smooth and supple, breasts full and pert, sex glistening for him between smooth, strong thighs that he couldn't wait to slide between and never, ever leave.

Stepping over to the bed, Mara slid forward on her hands and knees, spreading her long tanned legs as she reached Jaime's torso. Next, she began threading her fingers through the laces of his tunic, quickly undoing them and pulling the light cloth from over his head before tossing it towards the pile of clothes she'd left behind on the floor.

Leaning forward, her long locks spilled over his face as she gently brushed her lips to his. "Why so silent, Ser?"

"You're beautiful," Jaime finally managed to choke out, marveling at every inch of her.

She was long and lean; her weight light as a feather against him, yet strong in a way he couldn't even begin describe. She had a presence that demanded to be felt, which was exactly what he intended to do. Sliding his arms around her middle, he then moved his left hand down to cup the curve of her backside, lifting her up as he spun her around and placed her gently back down onto the bed so that he was on top.

Gazing down at her as she laid splayed out against the pillows, he smiled adoringly. "I don't deserve you."

"I know," She replied with a playful smile. Taking his hand into her own, she twined their fingers together before gently kissing his knuckles. "Lucky for you, I've always been attracted to men who are very, very wrong for me."

Feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch at the mention of being the wrong man for her, Jaime tried to cover it up with a smile. He knew that Mara was merely teasing him, but the words had pierced him somewhere deep as he thought once more of how he'd lied to her about Cersei.

"Jaime," Gently touching her nose to his, Mara nuzzled him gently. "That was a joke." Stretching her hands forward, she stroked the sparse hair that decorated his chest and stomach. "Come here," Tilting her head, she pressed another soft kiss to his lips. "I want this . . . I want _you . . ._ you know that."

Jaime kept trying to console himself over his deception to Mara, attempting to convince himself that telling her the truth about Cersei would have done more harm than good. He'd lied to so many people about his relationship with his sister and never thought twice about it — in fact it had become just as natural as breathing — but for whatever reason, it was different with Mara. It was truly mad, but he couldn't decide what frightened him more; the possibility of telling Mara the truth only to have her leak his secret . . . or the possibility that once he told her she might never speak to him again.

Deciding to push those thoughts away for now, Jaime instead brought his eyes back to hers, giving her his full attention and feeling the corners of his lips twitching up into a smirk as he brushed his thumb over her full lips. "You're sure about that?"

"Mmm, not really, no," Gently biting into the fleshy side of this thumb, she smirked against it. "Better hurry up before I change my mind."

"Clever girl," He murmured, lowering his head and pressing a series of kisses along the valley between her breasts as he unbuckled his trousers.

 _Gods, she's perfect,_ Jaime marveled once more, gazing down at her. And just then, suddenly, something very important occurred to him. In fact, it was all becoming very clear to him now. The woman beneath him was the most amazing he'd ever met. Truly beautiful; inside and out. She was more than he deserved by far, but now that he had been lucky enough to earn her favor, he wasn't going to take advantage of it. Indeed, Jaime had never been more certain of anything in his life. It was right then that he made the decision that his relationship with Cersei was surely a thing of the past, so long as Mara could be his future.

"Are you . . . " Jaime opened his mouth to question her decision once more when she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. Placing her soft, smooth hands to either side of his face, Mara gently pulled him in for another kiss, parting his lips with her tongue.

Grinning into the kiss, Jaime kept his eyes open to watch her reaction as he lowered his arm. Sliding his hand between her thighs, he cupped her sex briefly before slipping his middle and index fingers forward to circle the tiny bundle of nerves between her legs over and over, only stopping when he felt her dewy arousal coating his fingertips. Mara's breath hitched in her throat as Jaime traced her insides to perfection. Gently writhing against his touch, she clenched her thighs over his wrist, pulling him in closer.

 _"You,"_ She begged softly, biting down onto his lower lip as her hand traced the trail of hair leading down to his manhood. _"Now."_

Two simple words, and yet that was all he needed to hear. Gladly obliging, Jaime finished removing the rest of his clothes before settling himself once more between Mara's thighs, poised and aching. Keeping his eyes on the beauty beneath him, he took a deep breath himself, savoring the sight. Not wanting to take advantage of another moment not spent inside of her, he thrust his hips sharply forward, grunting softly as he was met with her slick, wet heat.

"Fuck," He exclaimed, gaping at her perfection as he became fully sheathed in what was undoubtedly the sweetest, tightest heaven he'd ever experienced.

Arching her back in response to his sudden movement, Mara moaned softly, her inner muscles contracting over him as she adjusted to his size. Biting down on her lip, she embraced him, drawing him closer with her legs as her eyes began to flutter to a close.

"No," Jaime breathed, moving his hand to grip her chin gently as he redirected her gaze to his. He had spent too many nights watching Cersei beneath him with closed eyes as she worried about whether or not they would be caught. There was nothing about Mara that reminded him of his time spent with his sister, and he'd be damned rather than allow anything to change that. "Look at me, Mara. I need you to look at me."

Nodding her understanding, Mara opened her eyes and looked back at him, careful to obey his request despite the intense waves of pleasure threatening to sweep her away. Nothing she'd ever experienced had ever felt like this, and she wanted to be present during every second. Pressing her knees over his hips, she wrapped her legs securely around his waist as she trailed the arches of her feet up and down the back of his legs, encouraging him to continue.

Panting softly, Jaime's lips emitted a soft sound of longing as he willed himself not to give into that same temptation when he felt her pull him closer, instead keeping his eyes locked on hers as he plunged forward once more. Setting up a steady rhythm, he clenched his jaw and cupped the inside of her knee to pull her even closer to him, delighting in the way her body fit to his so perfectly.

"Jaime," Mara chanted his name softly, his succession of quick, swift thrusts sending her reeling into an elevated frenzy.

Struggling to keep his composure, Jaime groaned softly in response, his breathing heavy as he bent his head to press his lips to her neck, kissing her everywhere he could while mumbling incoherent words of desire. Keeping his face close to hers, he slid his hand along the mattress by her side, pressing it palm down as he arched and bowed, quickening his pace. She was warm and tight, beautiful and wet . . . all of these things at once. She was perfect — she was more than he deserved, more than he could have ever wished for. He felt his undoing quickly approaching.

Pulling Jaime down by his neck, Mara surged against him, taking every last inch of his length deep inside of her as she arched back to meet each slam of his pelvis with an equally powerful one of her own. Their bodies throbbed and heaved with each other, all limbs working at a feverish pace in a desperate attempt to become closer. Leaning his head forward, Jaime pressed his mouth to one of her full breasts, tonguing her nipple between his lips as he growled lightly against it.

After several more moments of their continued passion play, Mara cried out as her body was seized by the most powerful, life altering release she'd ever experienced. Gripping onto him, she leaned forward, burying her mouth into his shoulder as she cried out again and again, her fingernails digging deep crescent shapes into the middle of his back as her insides clenched around him. Holding her shaking body close to his as he felt her unravel, Jaime flexed his jaw, delighting in both the pain and pleasure of the feeling of her fingernails as he delivered a few more strokes forward before he, too, met his surrender. Groaning loudly, a strained yell sounded from the back of his throat as he arched back, pounding himself forward several more times as he spilt his seed inside of her tight, warm core.

"Mara . . . "

Draped across each other in a tangle of limbs, they panted heavily, each seeing the same glorious stars behind their lids as they finally closed their eyes to rest. Utterly spent, Jaime buried his face into Mara's hair, nuzzling his cheek against her scalp. She was so warm; so bloody magnificent. He needed her to be his more than anything else. This wasn't a game, nor some farce fling. Their passion was too much to be ignored — too much not to be explored even further.

"Do you remember when I said you didn't belong here?" He asked, his chest heaving as he reclined against the pillows. "When you told me to let you know once I'd figured out where it was you belonged?"

Laying her head down on his chest as she spread her hand out over his abdomen, she nodded slowly in reply. She was still having difficulty collecting enough air to breathe, let alone speak, and admired him greatly for being able to manage stringing together two whole sentences.

"You belong with me," Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Jaime inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. It wasn't a question. "I need you with me, Mara. _Always_."

"Jaime, you do realize what you're saying . . . " She breathed, running her fingers over the tender skin at the joining of his hip and thigh.

"I do," Jaime replied quickly, his voice taking on a tone of finality. "When I leave Harrenhal, you're coming with me."

* * *

Leaving the dining hall behind, Brienne began her journey back to her bed chambers. The very last thing she'd wanted to do was sup with Jaime after he'd acted like a rude and arrogant arse earlier that day. To think that he would actually be able to train with her. While she had been keen on the idea of helping him, it seemed an all too humorous thought now. The young handmaiden had spoken some sweet words, yes, but talk was cheap, and Jaime Lannister was an undeniably selfish man who was unlikely to ever change.

Making her way along one of the many corridors leading to the upper parts of the castle, Brienne took the stone steps two at a time in her haste to return to her chambers. Although Harrenhal had become a desolate ruin since the War of Conquest, it was still great, and she had found herself getting turned around more than once in the past week.

 _"They'll never see it coming, m'lord . . . "_

At the sound of a familiar voice, Brienne paused, cautiously moving towards the room where she saw flames and shadows dancing along the wall across from the open door. She recognized that voice, she would recognize that voice until the day that she died. _Locke._ Pressing herself up against the corridor in order to remain unseen, Brienne listened closely to Roose Bolton's reply.

"He's a stubborn child, nothing more. He doesn't deserve to be in the position he's in."

"No doubt about that," Locke agreed, chuckling mercilessly. "He's had this coming for a long time now."

"I'm sending some of my best men to take his family and army," Pausing with a proud smirk, Bolton continued. "Then I'll make my appearance."

Eyes widening as she heard the two men exchanging their battle strategies, Brienne hesitated, then quickly turned and hurried back down the corridor as quietly as she possibly could. She knew that a man like Roose Bolton would not tolerate Jaime's games for much longer, no matter who he was — not without a price. They had to get back to the Capital; to beat Bolton's men before they had a chance to go forth with their plan to attack King's Landing. Surely Jaime would put his flirtation with the handmaiden aside once he learned that his family was in danger.

"What was that?" Lord Bolton inquired, nodding towards the open door.

Standing, Locke strode over to the door and peeked around the corner, but found nothing but the darkness of the empty corridor. Pulling the door to Lord Bolton's chambers closed, he shook his head to indicate that it was nothing as he returned to his chair.

Satisfied to continue with his plan once the door was closed, Bolton nodded. "You'll look after things while I'm away," He eyed Locke, taking a sip of mulled wine as he sat before the fire. Although he did not normally partake, at such a late hour he allowed himself this one indulgence. After all, the King of the North would soon be removed from his throne. It was a time to celebrate.

"Yes, m'lord," Locke replied evenly.

"I'm not quite sure what Jaime Lannister is playing at. Still, I'm sure he'll tire of the handmaiden soon enough and be on his way back to his sister." Swirling around the wine in his goblet, Bolton paused. "But, if he were to try anything . . . "

Locke grinned. "I'll take his other hand if he tries to take what's yours, m'lord."

Leaning back in his chair, Bolton nodded slowly, adopting Locke's grin onto his own face as he glanced back towards the fireplace. "Good, that's good."

* * *

 **A/N:** I know many of you have been anticipating this scene. Hope it was worth the wait. As always, please let me know your thoughts!


	7. Misunderstandings

**A/N:** As usual, you guys are the best! Thanks for all the kind words :)

* * *

 **Misunderstandings**

* * *

"Jaime . . . " Mara began softly, a somewhat cautious tone sounding in her voice.

Leaving Harrenhal behind was a lovely idea, and she would be telling an outright lie if she were to say that she'd never considered it before — especially since Jaime's arrival — but the reality of his words had quickly begun to sink in. After all, Jaime was a very important man. He was the eldest son of Tywin Lannister, as well as a member of the Kingsguard. He could have anything he wanted; denounce his position on the Kingsguard, become heir to Casterly Rock, marry a woman of high standing and rejoice in all the spoils it brought him. Mara's head grew heavy as she mulled over all the reasons he had to return home to the life he'd left behind, yet she couldn't think of one decent explanation as to why he would risk all that and more to bring her to the Capital with him.

Ignoring what he knew were bound to be protests, Jaime buried his face in her stomach, nuzzling his nose along the soft flesh covering her ribs. Mara could tell that he was attempting to get her to laugh, to not take things quite so seriously — to perhaps distract her once more — but she couldn't be swayed, not until they spoke reasonably about the situation at hand.

"The look on Tywin Lannister's face when you bring home Roose Bolton's handmaiden," She mused aloud, shaking her head.

"Meaning absolutely no offense, my lady, as you are indeed a sight to behold, but I do believe that all of my father's attention will be devoted to the fact that his eldest son no longer possesses his swordhand."

"And what am I to do in King's Landing?" Mara questioned, tilting her head as she looked down at him. "Did you ever think of that?"

"Be with me," Looking up at her, Jaime flashed her one of his world famous smiles, but knew full well that she would require some elaboration. "Anything you like. You'll never have to work again. You can pursue your passions . . . hell, take up sword fighting for all I care." Pressing a kiss to her belly, he whispered against her smooth skin. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'll take care of you."

"I can take care of myself," She replied softly, combing her fingers through his hair.

There it was, that same stubbornness that he had grown so fond of. Mara was easily the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and sweet as roses and honeysuckle, but there was iron in her soul. As it was, he indulged in that trait more than anything else. It was her stubbornness and intelligence that had drawn him to her, as well as her honesty and kindness. Without all of these traits, she would have been just another pretty face, and not nearly enough to keep him as intrigued as he was.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her collarbone. "All right, then you can take care of _me_." Hovering over her, he bent his head to touch his lips to her breasts. "You can bathe me, feed me, fuck me . . . " Taking her nipple into his mouth, he smirked against it. "Tell me how gorgeous I am on an hourly basis . . . "

"Jaime," She sighed.

"Okay, _daily_ then. I can work with daily."

Tossing her head back against the pillows, Mara laughed, her soft curls bouncing as she shook her head. "You really are something, Lannister."

Setting all playfulness aside, Jaime gazed up at Mara with a genuinely determined look in his eyes. "We'll take care of each other, how does that sound?"

Deciding that that was one term she could agree on, she smiled as she tucked her finger beneath his chin and tapped it gently. "Okay."

 _"_ _Okay?"_ He repeated in disbelief. "That's it? You're just going to give in that easily?"

"Would you rather I put up a fight?" Sitting up, she pressed him down into the mattress as she climbed on top, straddling his lap. "Because I'm pretty sure I could take you."

Moving his hand to her lower back, Jaime pulled Mara forward, grinning as she squealed with surprise. "You're sure about that?"

"Never been more sure about anything in my life," With a smile, she pressed her lips to his, smirking into the kiss as their tongues battled for dominance.

It was sheer and utter madness, what they were discussing, but at the moment it didn't seem to matter. Deep down, Mara felt uneasy at the prospect of going to King's Landing, not only because of who she was, but of whom she had been. Slowly leaning back to look at Jaime, she stroked his jaw with her fingertips, a sensation that he had begun to delight and find comfort in. Taking a deep breath, she hesitated as she considered her options. It would be wrong not to confide in him everything about her past, especially in light of the sacrifices that he was willing to make for her . . . but somehow she just couldn't find the words.

 _"_ _Jaime, I need to speak with you at once—"_

At the sudden intrusion, both Jaime and Mara looked up to watch as Brienne threw open the door and hurried forward.

Quickly moving from Jaime's lap, Mara pulled the wool blanket over her exposed body.

"I apologize for my intrusion." Brienne muttered, averting her eyes and quickly turning away as she quickly realized what she had just interrupted.

"You know, there's this custom you're obviously not aware of, but it's called _knocking_. . . " Jaime began, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

"My apologies," Brienne repeated somewhat impatiently, her back still turned to the pair. "But this is very important. I need to speak with you, Jaime. _Alone_."

Making to get up from the bed, Mara stopped when Jaime grabbed her wrist.

"Go ahead." He said.

"What I'm about to tell you is something best unheard by . . . others . . . "

Attempting to move once more, Jaime slid his arm protectively around Mara's waist as she attempted to grab her clothes. _"Jaime."_

"Give us a moment, Brienne." Jaime insisted.

Briefly hesitating, Brienne nodded her head before exiting Jaime's chambers to stand outside the door.

"If she has something she needs to tell you in private . . . " Slipping from his grasp, Mara picked her underclothes and dress up from the floor and hastily began pulling them back on. "I'm not going to pry."

"Anything she has to say to me, she can say in front of you."

With her back turned, Mara couldn't help but smile in spite of his words, as well as the sentiment behind them. Leaning down to pick his clothes up as well, she turned around and tossed them to him.

"Well, get dressed then." She said with a smile.

When Brienne returned a few moments later, she tried once more to attempt to get Mara to leave, but gave in upon Jaime's continuous refusals. Retelling them both the conversation that she had overheard between Lord Bolton and Locke, she waited for Jaime's reaction.

"You actually heard Bolton refer to my family _by name_?" Jaime questioned.

"Well, no, not exactly." Brienne admitted.

"So really, this could be anyone Bolton's referring to?" He mused.

"How many spoilt rotten daddy's boys do you think Lord Bolton has a vendetta against?" Brienne exclaimed.

Raising an eyebrow, Jaime couldn't help but become somewhat impressed by her bold words. Alas, what she was saying didn't make sense. "Brienne, I've been a guest under Bolton's roof for over a week now and he hasn't tried to lay a hand on me. In fact, he's been rather hospitable."

"I'm not going to even begin to understand the motives of a madman, I'm just telling you what I heard. I would expect you to be a bit more attentive to such matters!"

Jaime chanced a glance at Mara, wondering what her opinion might be. "Have you overheard anything that would lead you to the same suspicions?"

"No," She replied, shaking her head. "I would have told you if I had."

Jaime gave her a small smile of reassurance. Of course he knew that.

"Are you honestly going to keep questioning this? This is _Roose Bolton_ we're talking about!" Brienne fumed.

"She's right," Mara agreed softly. "He's a monster."

Taking Mara's opinion into consideration, Jaime hesitated. Of course his handmaiden likely knew him better than anyone else, but why would Bolton continue to host Jaime as a guest in his home if he was planning to lay siege to the Capital? Robb Stark was visiting the Twins with the rest of the northern army, and Bolton didn't have nearly enough men in Harrenhal to stand against King's Landing. No matter how he spun it, Jaime could not make sense of Brienne's concerns.

"If you want to keep playing guessing games, be my guest, but I'm leaving now." Brienne didn't care much for the Lannisters, but she did care about her promise to Catelyn Stark, and Lady Stark's daughter was still being held prisoner in the Red Keep. "Just remember, Jaime," She continued in a grave voice. "Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love."

With that, Brienne departed, leaving Jaime and Mara to stare after her.

"It doesn't make sense," Jaime muttered once Brienne had left. Even so, her words still held an obvious hold on him. "Bolton hasn't been holding me prisoner, if anything he's been _encouraging_ me to leave Harrenhal."

Mulling over Jaime's words, Mara frowned. Honestly, she couldn't think of much of a reason for Bolton to plan such a risky attack either, but Brienne seemed so confident in what she'd overheard. "There has to be an explanation."

Shaking it off, Jaime stood and began to gather his things. "I can't risk it either way. Can you get a raven to King's Landing?"

Nodding, Mara hurried towards the door. "Qyburn keeps them up in the North Tower."

"I'm going to ready the horses," Crossing the room, Jaime pulled Mara closer. "Gather your things and any food you can manage. I'll take care of the rest."

Touching her hand to Jaime's face, she smiled. "Everything's going to be okay."

Taking hold of Mara's hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm. "As long as you're with me, I know that's true." Giving her a small smile, he nodded towards the door. "Quickly now."

* * *

It was far too early for Fiyona and the other kitchen maids to be awake, but Mara still made sure to work hastily as she gathered the food. Placing a sack around her shoulder, she flipped through the pantries, loading loaves of bread, hard cheeses, fruits, and any vegetables she knew would keep well inside. Quickly stepping over to another pantry, she paused, knowing it would be wasteful to bring anything that needed to be kept cold. Who knew how long it would be until they were able to rest peacefully near a river, or some other cold climate? Moving next to the flagons, she filled several with both cool water and wine.

"What are you doin' in 'ere?"

Quickly turning around, Mara cursed as she accidentally turned over a bowl of fruit from the counter. Startled by Rand's sudden appearance, she hesitated, but then quickly sighed her relief. At least it was only the stable boy. The last thing she needed was Lord Bolton finding her sneaking around the kitchens at this hour. "Nothing, just preparing for breakfast."

"Without Fiyona?" He questioned, his eyes full of suspicion. "You know well as I do that she don' rise till the rooster do."

"I thought it would be wise to get an early start. Lord Bolton's leaving for the Twins soon, I wanted to prepare for his journey." Mara said, avoiding his gaze as she quietly tucked the sack behind her back.

"How dutiful of you," He replied sarcastically.

Ignoring him, Mara made to move past Rand when he stretched his arm out to keep her from passing. Narrowing her eyes, she clenched her teeth. "Let me go."

"Why're you in such a rush? You know, you used to enjoy talkin' to me."

"I never enjoyed anything that had to do _with you_ ," She hissed, turning her face away in disgust.

"You know, it's interestin' that you should be the one given the task to pack for Lord Bolton's journey . . . "

Keeping her face impassive, Mara waited for Rand to finish his thought.

"When Fiyona already packed everythin' earlier this evenin' so they could get an early start. As a matter of fact, Bolton's probably on his way to the Twins right now."

Racking her brain for an excuse, Mara hesitated. "I didn't realize. I suppose I should go ahead and put all this away then." Making to step forward, she narrowed her eyes when Rand moved once more to block her path. "Let me pass."

"So you can return to that Lannister cunt? I think not." Grabbing Mara's wrist, Rand pulled her close, sliding his other hand down to grip her waist for leverage. "You've been spendin' so much time with 'im, I hardly see you anymore . . . " With one hand still glued to her waist, he used the other to brush his fingers over the tops of her breasts. "Time to let _me_ see you."

Struggling against him, Mara dropped the sack of food, beating her hands against his chest. Cripple or not, he still overpowered her easily. "No, Rand, stop!"

Taking hold of her shoulders, Rand slammed Mara up against the chopper's block, causing her to wince as her lower back came in contact with a sharp corner.

"Shut up!" Raising his hand, he then slapped her hard across the face.

Momentarily stunned by the impact his hand had made with her jaw, Mara became still as Rand lifted her up onto counter, raising her skirts as he began to fumble with the buckle of his pants. Although Mara had been put into several horrible positions during her time working at the brothel, she'd never once had a man force himself on her, and she did not intend for Rand to be the bastard to change that.

Taking a deep breath, she eased back into her composure. "Let me help you with that."

Startled, Rand hesitated when Mara suddenly began to give her consent, but grinned approvingly all the same. "Always knew you'd come round, Mara."

Returning his smile with one of her own, Mara reached down as if to undo his trousers but then brought her fist forward instead, slamming it right between his legs.

"FUCK!" Rand cursed, stumbling backwards, realization hitting him almost as hard as her fist. "YOU FUCKIN' WHORE!"

Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, Mara jumped down from the counter and kicked him twice in his injured leg.

"Shit!" Crying out, Rand spread his arms in a helpless attempt to keep his balance, but only managed to turn over a few pots and pans on his way down to the floor.

Knowing that wouldn't be enough to keep him away, Mara grabbed an iron pan from the stove and brought it down on his head three times for good measure. With each clang of the pan, Rand's body jerked this way and that before collapsing into a pathetic heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, Mara stood for a moment, staring down at his lifeless form. He wasn't dead, but he would certainly be out for hours to come. Lifting her sack of food, she hastily left the kitchens and rushed upstairs to the tower where the ravens were kept.

Unlike many handmaidens, Mara was well-versed in the common tongue, as well as Dornish and high Valyrian. Her mother Alina had been born to a high standing house in Dorne, but had given everything up to be with her father. Nonetheless, Alina Jordayne had made certain to teach her daughter everything she knew during the cold winter months spent cooped up inside of the farm.

Moving through the tower that also served as Qyburn's quarters, Mara tried to remain as silent as she could while furiously searching through his desk for spare parchment and quill. Once finding the proper instruments, she began to construct her letter to Tywin Lannister.

* * *

Taking a few detours along his way to the stables, Jaime grabbed a couple of swords from Bolton's armory, along with a bag of gold he'd seen one of his men hide away earlier that day, some spare clothes and boots he'd managed to find in his size. Bolton was a smart man, but was in desperate need of decent soldiers. In fact, only one man remained dutiful, standing watch along the corridors while the others had retreated to drink and whore in a small tavern not too far from the castle. Stepping over to the horses once he had finished packing, Jaime came to a sudden stop upon hearing a gruff voice that he recognized all too well.

"I'll be back in a few days time," Bolton began as he saddled up his own horse. "Keep watch over things while I'm away."

Nodding his understanding, Locke patted Bolton's horse on the back with a grin. "Safe travels, m'lord."

Returning Locke's eerie smile, Bolton turned and cantered his horse from the stables, a group of his soldiers following.

Remaining where he hid behind a bale of hay, Jaime narrowed his eyes as he watched Bolton lead his men away from Harrenhal. Although he was taking a few men along with him, there was perhaps twenty in all. Hardly an army. Again, something in Jaime's gut told him that Brienne's assumptions were off . . . but then who the hell had Bolton been referring to?

Watching as Locke went to join the other men in the great hall, Jaime looked both ways, making sure that no one else remained behind. There were a few horses left, but the one Bolton had shown to Brienne was gone. Of course she'd made off for King's Landing as soon as possible. Part of Jaime was sad to see her go, but he also knew that if any woman could take care of herself on the Kingsroad, it would be Brienne of Tarth.

Moving over to the horses, he loaded his bags, tying them to the saddles so they rested on top of the horses' rear. It would be a long journey to King's Landing, but the thought no longer deterred Jaime as it once had. He would have Mara by his side, and she was all he needed. Bearing that in mind, he finished up with the horses and hurried back to the castle.

* * *

Sat over her letter, Mara looked up when she heard the door to the towers open. Holding her breath, she clenched the quill in her fist.

"Just me," Jaime announced softly, slipping inside and gently closing the door behind him.

Relaxing at the sight of Jaime, Mara let loose her quill.

"Are you alright?" Jaime asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he moved towards her.

"Fine," Nodding, she forced a smile. "I had a bit of a run-in with Rand in the kitchens, but I'm fine."

Eyes widening, Jaime hurried towards her. "Did he—"

"He tried," She replied softly. "He _failed._ "

Moving his arms around her, he clenched his jaw. "Where is he now? I'll tear his fucking—"

"It's taken care of," Pressing a finger to his lips to keep him quiet, she whispered. "We don't have time for that anyway."

Gently touching his hand to her face, Jaime frowned as he saw a shadow of a bruise blossoming on her left cheek. "I don't care, I'll kill that fucking bastard—"

"Shhh," She insisted, pressing a kiss to his lips to silence and distract him. "Here, you need to sign this." Offering the letter to him, Mara handed him her quill.

Quickly looking over the letter that Mara had written to warn his father of the possible threat to come, Jaime hesitated. Something still felt entirely off about the entire situation, but he remained stumped. Whether the conversation that Brienne had overheard was right or wrong, it didn't matter. If there was any chance that his family was in danger, he could not risk it.

Taking both the quill and letter from her, Jaime paused with his hand over the parchment. Just as the sword had felt foreign in his left hand, the quill did as well. Hastily scratching it across the page, he was relieved to see that it was legible and somehow managed to look very similar to his right handed signature. Folding the letter up into forths, he handed it to Mara who took it and quickly and tied it to the raven's ankle before opening the window of the tower.

"How long do you think it'll take for us to arrive in King's Landing?" She asked, watching the raven as it spread its great black wings and soared out into the night. The bird would make it to the Capital long before they did.

"A week, maybe two, depending on what happens along the way." Noting the look of concern in her expression, Jaime pressed a kiss to her brow. "You're safe with me, Mara. I won't let anything happen to you."

Tilting her head back, she stroked his chin. "We should go, while most of the castle's still asleep."

Nodding his agreement, Jaime gripped Mara's hand and pulled her through the exit of the towers. Hurrying along the corridors, the two managed to make their way through the castle and down to the stables without being interrupted. The moonlight shone down on them, a small mercy, lighting their way through the darkness as they saddled their horses and left the blasted ruin of Harrenhal behind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yaaaay, laterz Harrenhal! I am so excited to start writing about Jaime and Mara in King's Landing. There's definitely a lot that's going to go down, as you can imagine, but first they have to make it there . . .


	8. Sacrifices

**A/N:** Sorry for the lack of updates! Sometimes you just have to wait for your muse to strike.

* * *

 **Sacrifices**

* * *

In a miraculous turn of events Jaime managed to whisk Mara away from Harrenhal during the depths of the night without anyone having noticed. Although it was indeed a small victory, he wasn't naive enough to think his luck would continue on that same path. Roose Bolton was a proud man and would not take kindly to allowing a Lannister to take what was his. **_His_** **.** The thought made a muscle in Jaime's jaw twitch. How absurd, to think that Mara was anyone's property. But even as he thought this, a sudden realization occurred to him . . . The truth was, there was nothing that Jaime desired more than making Mara _his_.

Before, marriage had never been an option for him. Jaime had become a member of the Kingsguard at just seven-and-ten. His father had frowned upon his decision, as in accepting this role his son had sworn to father no children and take no wife. But none of that had ever mattered to Jaime. He'd never cared about heirs, nor having a wife. The only thing he'd cared about was being with Cersei, and to stay close to Cersei meant being a Knight of the Kingsguard. That seemed so long ago to him now, as if it had been another life entirely.

In Jaime's new life, he'd been given a second chance to live as he always should have; with a beautiful young woman who accepted him for who he was and cared for him all the same. Staring at Mara from where he sat a top his horse, Jaime took a moment to revel in her grace and beauty as she rode her snow white mare a few paces ahead of him. He couldn't say why the Gods had decided to choose this time in his life to smile down on him; granting him such a miraculous gift, but he would not spend another second wasting his time questioning it.

"Could you kindly stop staring at my arse?" Mara asked, glancing over her shoulder at him through the tangle of dark curls that hung loosely in her face.

His lips curved upward at her words. "I make no promises."

Tugging the hood of her cloak to the side, she smirked. "Do you think we're safe yet?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he took in their surroundings. They'd been riding for hours and it had to have been well past noon, but he refused to stop until they'd put several leagues between themselves and Harrenhal. "I think we should keep going for another hour or two."

"Well, you can keep going all you want. _I'm_ hungry, so I'm going to stop."

"Mara . . . " He warned.

" _Mara_. . . " She sing-songed his warning like a mockingbird. Clicking her tongue, she squeezed the horse's torso with her thighs, easing her mare into a canter as she took off for a long stretch of woods a few paces ahead.

Watching as she glided away on her horse, Jaime's eyes widened. _"Mara!"_ Following after her, he dug his heels into the sides of his own mount, hurrying after her at a furious gallop.

Mara knew it wasn't right, but she couldn't resist having a little fun. After spending so many hours doing nothing but following a trail off the beaten path, it was well past time for some much needed amusement. Once reaching the wooded area, she pulled on the reins to bring her horse to a stop. Leading her mare over to a nearby stream, Mara dismounted, petting the beautiful animal as she bent her head down to lap up the cool water into her mouth.

"Mara!" Jaime shouted just seconds later, bringing his horse to a stop and leaping down in one fell swoop.

"Nice of you to finally catch up." She commented, her lips turning up at the edges.

"Gods, Mara," He grunted, hurrying towards her and pulling her forward by her waist, guiding her back over to her horse. "We have to keep going."

"Jaime, we've been riding for hours!" She pouted, moving her hands to his shoulders. Feeling the heat and shape of heavy muscle beneath his shirt, she took a step closer, closing the distance between them as she draped her arms around his neck, her fingers twining through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Stay with me here, for a little while at least."

Torn, Jaime took in their surroundings once more, but quickly became distracted when he felt her deft fingers stroking the soreness of his muscles. She had a way with him that no one else did; a siren stealing his heart, mind and soul with a few soft words and gentle caresses.

"How the fuck do you do this to me?" He murmured, a desperate ache sounding at the back of his throat as he lowered his hand to squeeze her hip.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," She replied playfully, her dark chocolate eyes alight with the mischief he had so grown to love about her.

Gently nuzzling her nose against his, Mara smirked, but then twirled away before stepping back over towards her mare. Standing on the tips of her toes, she pulled a sack down from the horse's back and began removing a few items. First, taking out a skin full of water, she brought it to her lips and took a deep swallow before passing it over to him. Taking the skin, Jaime pressed his lips over the top, tipping his head back as he had a drink himself. His gaze still glued to Mara, he watched as she removed a blanket from the sack and spread it out on a dry patch of grass next to the stream.

"What do women do in King's Landing?" She asked suddenly, raising a curious eyebrow as she smoothed out the back of her skirts before sitting down on the blanket.

" _Do_?" He repeated her question aloud.

"Yes, _do . . ._ " She nodded, leaning back against her hands. "You're a Knight of the Kingsguard, you protect the king. Handmaidens serve ladies . . . so, what does everyone else _do_?"

Jaime thought for a moment. What _did_ Cersei do _?_ Apart from drinking, complaining, and bitching about everything he either did or did not do . . .

"Erm . . . embroidery?" He replied, taking a seat beside her on the blanket. Seeing Mara's disgusted expression, he burst out laughing.

"Not very impressive, hmm?" Moving behind her, he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her between his legs. Nestling his chin into the space between her neck and shoulder, he pressed his lips to the back of her head. "Don't worry, love. If you end up not being very impressed by King's Landing, I'll be sure to find plenty of other activities to keep you occupied."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Mara smiled, biting down on her lip as she felt his warm breath tickling her scalp. "Such as?"

Grinning at her request, Jaime dutifully obliged, pressing his mouth over her ear as he whispered exactly what he had planned for her.

Laughing softly, she slid her hand to cup the back of his neck, tilting her head up to meet his. "Why wait?"

Smirking, he nodded his agreement, but then suddenly had a thought that kept him from proceeding with his earlier suggestions.

"Just promise me one thing . . . " Jaime began, looking at her from his place behind her shoulder. "Promise me you won't start wearing your hair like the women in the Capital do." Threading his fingers through her long mane of hair, he brushed his nose and lips over her smooth, silky curls. "Keep it like this."

"How do women wear their hair in the Capital?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Jaime moved his hand to her hair and began a feeble attempt at fashioning it in the style that his sister always wore.

"Gods, I don't even need a mirror to know that's awful." Laughing, Mara shook her head back and forth, moving her fingers through her dark brown tresses.

"So, how do you spend _your_ time in King's Landing?" Turning to look at him, she tilted her head curiously. "I know being a member of the Kingsguard must be incredibly time consuming . . . " Raising her hands to his shoulders, she slid her arms in around his neck, facing him him as she seated herself down on his lap. "But surely you have a little down time here and there."

"Hardly," He mumbled, cradling her waist in his lap. "Robert made sure to always keep me . . . occupied."

"So there was never anyone tempting enough to distract you from your duties?" She questioned, brushing her lips over his as she spoke.

Closing his eyes at the feel of her lips, Jaime hesitated. There had been Cersei . . . there had always been Cersei, but he couldn't exactly admit that to her. Raising his hand to cup her chin, he pulled her closer. He didn't want to lie to her but he couldn't tell the truth either, so he settled for somewhere in the middle.

"There was never anyone tempting enough to make me want to give it up," Pressing his lips to her forehead, he held her close. "Not until you."

Rather pleased with his answer, Mara grinned up at him. Tucking her fingers beneath his chin, she then ran the tips along his stubbled jaw before pressing her lips to his in a slow, languid kiss.

Judging by her response, Jaime quickly gathered that he had delivered the right answer. After a few moments spent basking in her glory, he slowly broke the kiss, staring at her with hungry, hooded eyes. "I thought you said you were hungry?"

"Mmm, but I never specified what I was hungry _for_. . . " Pressing her lips to his once more, she smiled against them whilst her hands plunged into his hair, controlling the depth and angle of the kiss.

All too soon Jaime found himself instantly, painfully hard. His senses and coherent, logical thinking had quickly abandoned him the moment that her hand traveled lower to cover the aching outline of his cock.

 _"_ _Seven blessings!"_

Looking up from their place spread out on the ground, both Jaime and Mara followed the sound of the stranger's voice to find an older gentleman traveling alone through the woods, offering them both a friendly wave. He didn't carry much with him, which meant he was likely close to home.

Quickly realizing what he must have interrupted, the stranger bowed his head in apology. "Oh, forgive me! I'll just be on my way then . . . "

Staring after the man, Jaime swallowed the lump that had begun to form in his throat. He remembered all too well the last time that another traveler had gotten a glimpse of him on the road back to King's Landing, and it had led to his capture by Roose Bolton's men. Had it been his choice, he wouldn't have let the man live, and now that he did have the choice he knew he wouldn't be able to let this man get away like the other one had.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand in greeting, his eyes still on the stranger as he mumbled to Mara from the side of his mouth. "Stay here."

Frowning, she followed his gaze as it landed on the older traveler. By now he had made his way well up the stream, balancing a couple of pails over his shoulders as he went to retrieve some water. Hesitating, Mara looked back to Jaime, realization suddenly dawning on her. "Jaime, leave him be. He's an old man, he won't do us any harm."

" _Stay here."_ He repeated, his words more forceful this time.

Taking note of her reaction, Jaime instantly felt the guilt rising within him like an angry tide. He'd never spoken to Mara that way; never made any demands of her, but the current situation called for it. Gently setting her aside, he glanced away, not able to stand the look of hurt in her eyes as he stood from the blanket and collected his sword.

Hurrying after the man at a steady pace, Jaime waited patiently, watching him like a lion after its prey. Remaining silent, he stalked the man through the woods, keeping behind the trees to shield himself as he observed the traveler following the stream.

Setting his pails down, Jaime watched in aggrieved silence as the man began to fill them with cool, fresh water. At the sound of a twig breaking under the weight of his foot, the man turned around to find Jaime. A look of anxiety quickly flashed across his features, but then slowly began to relax as he recognized Jaime as the man from before.

"My apologies again, sir. I did not mean to offend you . . . " He stuttered, his rough, dirty hands shaking slightly as he held them up.

"No offense taken." Jaime said slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I live just over that hill there, and this is the freshest stream nearby. My wife's making a stew for supper, you see."

Nodding his understand, Jaime stepped closer to the stream. He took a moment to admire the small home the man kept in the distance.

"Face the water."

"Sir?" The man questioned, his face dropping. Quickly looking for something to say, to perhaps attempt to put himself in Jaime's good graces, the man continued. "I-I'm sure my wife has made more than enough if you and your young lady companion would like to stop for a bite to eat."

Although Jaime could not blame the man for his attempts to distract him, he felt himself growing weary of this conversation. They both knew what had to be done, and he wasn't going to waste anymore time allowing this man to try to convince him of an alternative. Unsheathing his sword from his side, he took a step closer. The old man put up a brief struggle, but within seconds Jaime had him on his knees.

"Sir, please! I-I have a family. P-please . . . "

Jaime took no pleasure in taking the man's life, especially as he began to sob for his wife and children. Burying his sword deep into the man's back, he looked away as the blade pierced his heart from behind, his eyes lowering to take in the sight of the man's blood mixing with the cool water of the stream. The man's body shook in aftershock of the blow, and Jaime held the traveler close to ease him from this life to the next. He'd killed countless men in his days, but had only knowingly taken two _innocent_ men's lives. The first had been his cousin back at the Stark's camp, a sacrifice he'd had to make in an attempt to escape . . . and now this man. He didn't even know his name. Perhaps it was better that way.

By the time Jaime returned to Mara, he found her waiting for him, her eyes full of concern. Instantly taking note of the blood that had stained the wrist of his tunic, she stared, fear thrumming across her skin. "What did you do?"

"What I had to." He replied simply.

Raising her hand, Mara covered her mouth as she turned away, unable to meet his eyes.

"Listen to me," He growled, roughly pulling her around to face him. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you and that includes killing. I did what I did to keep you safe and I'd do it again — I may well have to before this journey is over. I need you to understand that."

Jerking away from him, Mara gritted her teeth, her dark eyes full of anger; resentment. She couldn't stand to have him touch her, not after what he'd done — but even more than that she felt guilty; guilty that he'd done what he had to keep her safe. How could she live with herself knowing that the blood on his hands should have just as easily coated her own?

"Don't touch me!" She shouted, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

Jaime stared at her in silence, his eyes going unfocused. Her sharp words pierced him. Being with Mara, laughing with her; touching her — it had been the first joy he'd experienced in years . . . but she didn't want it, not after what he'd done — not anymore.

Suddenly coming to this realization, he smiled slowly, but there was no happiness in it. Eyes drifting back to hers, he nodded.

"There it is, there's the look. I've seen it for seventeen years on every face that I pass. Kingslayer . . . Oathbreaker . . . Man Without Honor."

A bitter chuckle left his lips, he had to laugh; had to smile to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.

"I apologize for deceiving you, my lady, but I was under the impression that you knew what I was all along . . . that you had accepted it. Foolish. I shouldn't have made that assumption."

Taking a deep breath, Mara worked hard to get a grip on his words, as well as her own self control. Swallowing down her agony, she attempted to speak, but could not find her voice.

"We have to keep moving," He continued, allowing her no more time to think up a proper response. "I won't lay a hand on you, you have my word."

With that, Jaime turned and walked back to his horse.

* * *

Hours later, Jaime and Mara came across a small inn. All along Jaime had made sure to steer clear of the main road through their travels, but after their latest encounter he'd taken them even further off the central path.

"One room?" The innkeeper questioned, eyeing Jaime and Mara closely.

Jaime had a feeling that if Mara had her way she'd prefer to be away from him for a time, but the small amount of gold they possessed had to last them for the rest of their journey, and he wasn't willing to spend anymore than he had to, nor was he willing to leave her alone for the night in an inn full of strange men.

"One room, and two plates of whatever was served for dinner." He confirmed, sliding over enough coin for supper and lodgings.

"I'm not hungry," Mara replied softly, her arms crossed like a sullen child.

"Oh, little lamb . . . " The sweet old innkeeper began, moving her thin, papery hand to cover Mara's. "I make the best kidney pie in the North, and you look like you could use a good meal."

Feeling the old woman's hand in her own, Mara instantly felt a warmth that she hadn't felt in ages. It reminded her of being with her Gran, years and years ago before the sickness had taken her. To turn this woman's offer away would be cruel, but she didn't think she'd be able to keep anything down after witnessing what she had in the woods.

"No, thank you." She replied, her tone soft; apologetic.

Looking to Jaime, the older woman narrowed her eyes, as if she already knew that Mara's mood was caused by something he had done.

Jaime stared back at the old hag, a glint of challenge in his eyes.

"Let me show you to your room then."

Nodding her gratitude, Mara glanced over at Jaime once more before following the innkeeper up the stairs.

Deciding that he would give her some time to herself, Jaime made his way over to the common room and had a seat at a table. Within seconds a young kitchen wench hurried towards him, filling his cup to the brim with ale. He was one of only a few other men and women left in the tavern, and he knew the young woman likely desired to serve him as quickly as she could so she could be off to do as she pleased.

Staring at the food the serving wench had laid out before him, Jaime tried to find the will to eat, but all he could think of was Mara's words . . . the look of disgust in her deep brown eyes as she pulled away from him in the woods. Would she hate him now that she knew what he really was? Would she finally begin to despise him; to look at him the way others had been looking at him for the past two decades?

"Traveling alone?"

Looking up from his plate of food, Jaime narrowed his eyes as he watched an older blonde woman move to take a seat directly across from him. Leaning towards him, she pushed her breasts forward, making her intentions far too obvious for Jaime's liking.

In a way, she reminded him of Cersei. Her hair was golden, eyes a piercing green. There were lines around her face that led him to believe that she'd spent her life smiling and laughing. How interesting, how thoughts of Cersei no longer brought him lust or desire . . . but something else entirely. More than anything, it made him long for Mara.

Choosing to ignore her rather than humor her, he raised his cup to his lips.

"Poor, lonely man. All's you need is a bit of company . . . "

Walking her fingers along the table, the stranger made to move her hand over his but met nothing but the edge of his plate as Jaime jerked his arm away.

"I'm not traveling alone." He stated, gritting his teeth. Pulling away, he stood up from the table, leaving the blonde and his untouched food behind, but taking his flagon of ale along with him.

The entire inn had grown quiet by the time Jaime ascended the stairs to join Mara in their bedroom. Once inside, he watched her in silence from the doorway, eyes drifting over the length of her figure as she laid on her side, facing the wall. There was a chill in the room that he instantly felt upon entering, and he knew that Mara felt that same coldness as he watched her shiver under her thin blanket. No matter how much closer they had managed to get to the Capital during their day's journey, they were still in the North . . . and winter was coming.

Feeling Jaime's presence, Mara turned to face him. "Jaime . . . " she began softly. She had so much that she wanted to say to him and she'd had plenty of time to think on it. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she despised him just like everyone else. In fact, she was quite certain that she could never hate him, no matter what he did.

"Have you heard of wildfire?" He asked suddenly, closing the door behind him.

"What?" She questioned, staring at him in confusion. There was something about the way he staggered forward, something about the way the light in his eyes had suddenly seemed to burn out. It made her want to comfort him, to reassure him that she understood what he was, who he had to become in order to protect them both, but instead she slowly shook her head.

"The Mad King was obsessed with it," He began without breaking stride, moving to the end of the bed. "He loved to watch people burn . . . the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted from their bones." Mindlessly stroking the end of the feather bed, he swallowed. "He burned lords he didn't like, he burned Hands who disobeyed him . . . he burned anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him."

Mara remained silent, not sure what the point of Jaime's story was, but respecting him enough to give him the time to get there.

"Aerys had traitors everywhere, so he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city . . . beneath the Sept of Baelor, in the slums of Flea Bottom, under houses and stables, taverns . . . would you believe, even the Red Keep itself?" Staring at her, he hesitated, too lost in his story to follow much else. "Finally, the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the Capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father arrived first, with the whole Lannister army at his back, promising to defend the city against the rebels."

Jaime smiled, again, without any joy. "But I knew my father better than that. He's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the Mad King as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully, but the King didn't listen to me, nor did any of his advisors. The only person he listened to was Grand Maester Pycelle, who told him that he could trust the Lannisters."

Silent as the grave, Mara listened to Jaime's story as he continued.

"So we opened the gates, and my father sacked the city. Once again, I came to the King, begging him to surrender. He told me to bring him my father's head. Then he turned to his pyromancer . . . _'Burn them all,'_ he said."

Swallowing, Mara closed her eyes. She understood exactly what Jaime was saying now — how he was sharing the truth of what had happened the night he'd killed Aerys II Targaryen — the night that had branded him the infamous Kingslayer.

"Tell me, what would you have done? If you were given such an order . . . if you were commanded to kill your own father and stand by while thousands of men, women and children burned alive . . . Would you have done it?"

Although his eyes were on her, Mara knew that this was something he'd needed to confess for years. This was bigger than her; bigger than what had happened between them in the woods. Jaime was making his confession, a confession that was years in the making; something he'd been hiding for nearly as long as Mara had been alive.

"First I killed the pyromancer . . . and then, when the King turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. _'Burn them all,'_ he kept saying. I don't think he expected to die . . . I think he meant to burn with the rest of them and rise again, reborn as a dragon to burn his enemies to ashes." Pausing, Jaime shook his head, gritting his teeth. "I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Mara finally asked, her voice breaking as she felt fresh tears rising in her throat.

"Ned Stark, that martyr all you bloody northerners worship, judged me the moment he set eyes on me." Shaking his head, he chuckled bitterly. "Do you think the great Lord Stark wanted to hear my side of things?"

"So you've just lived with this . . . all these years?"

That same sad, desperate smile began to take over Jaime's features as his response.

Moving forward, she slid down to meet him on the end of the bed.

"Jaime, look at me . . ." Cupping his chin in her hand, she fixed him with her eyes. "You said that you're a killer, but that's not _who_ you are. You'll never have to become a killer because I'll bring you back from it." Placing her hand over his chest, she took a deep breath as she felt his heart pulse beneath her fingertips. "I will _always_ bring you back."

Closing his eyes, Jaime pressed his forehead against hers, savoring her words. He wanted so badly to believe in them, to forget the way that she had looked at him back in the woods; to forget how he had been looked at by everyone surrounding him since he was a teenager. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, trying to suppress the sobs he felt rising in his chest. "You can't want to condemn yourself to that sort of fate."

"Stop," she pleaded. "Look at me . . . come back to me."

Finally bringing himself to meet her eyes, Jaime hesitated. He wasn't anywhere near being able to redeem himself for the crimes of his past, but if Mara was willing to accept him, it made the prospect that much more bearable.

Taking his face into her hands, she brought her lips to his and once again, the world around them disappeared. Time ceased to bear any meaning as they lost themselves in the give and take of their passionate embrace. Their kiss was slow and gentle but vast, desperate; like a rising tide. It felt like forgiveness, like acceptance . . . like peace.

* * *

 **A/N:** As much as I love the confession scene between Jaime and Brienne, I couldn't resist rewriting it so that Mara was the one to see him so vulnerable. As always, please be sure to let me know what you think!


	9. Revelations

**A/N:** Thank you for all of your thoughts and kind words on the last chapter. Your words really do inspire me to continue writing this story!

* * *

 **Revelations**

* * *

Jaime woke to the feeling of warm sunlight shining on his face and soft, gentle fingers tracing circles and figure-eights across the center of his bare chest. There had not been a night in the past year that he'd had such a perfect night's rest; every muscle relaxed, every concern forgotten . . . Perhaps he'd not experienced such a blissful night in all his forty years. Opening his eyes, a slow smile spread across his handsome features as he took in the glorious sight lying directly across from him. Before him, Mara returned his smile with one of her own, her lovely doe eyes soft with a mixture of sleep and utter contentment. She was the entire reason for his restful night, as well as the peace that he currently felt.

Soon after Jaime had retold the story of the night he'd killed the Mad King, the two had found perfect solace in each other and continued right where they'd left off in the woods. It had been as if no interruption had ever befallen them, as if the blood that stained his hands had been washed clean. Jaime had taken comfort in every last inch of Mara's body, over and over again until they'd both been reduced to puddles of satisfaction. Around them, the candles placed on the bedside table burned low with less than an inch remaining, pools of warm melted wax dripping in a similar fashion.

"See anything you like?" He murmured, his voice husky with sleep yet somehow still managing to contain his usual tone of cocky arrogance.

Pressing her lips together in a half-hearted attempt to hold back a smile, she shrugged her tanned shoulders with an air of nonchalance. "Perhaps."

Grinning at her jape, Jaime swarmed his arms around her as she giggled mercilessly, tossing her head back and forth in an attempt to fight him off.

"Well, I certainly hope that isn't true, my lady, because it appears you're stuck with me."

"Am I now?" Mara challenged, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. "You know the innkeeper is already onto you," Tapping his lips with her index finger, she continued in a taunting whisper. "In fact, I'm sure it would be quite easy for me to convince her that a brutish, older man had captured me and taken me far away from my home to do with as he likes."

" _Do with as he likes_ . . . " He mused, brushing his lips over hers as he rubbed slow circles across the smooth flesh of her lower back. "I _do_ like the sound of that."

Smirking in spite of his words and touch, she sighed, fluttering her eyelashes in a perfect imitation of the purest maiden. "In her eyes I'm an innocent young woman. That's a _very_ powerful tool."

"Lucky for me . . . " He began slowly, lowering his mouth to bestow a trail of kisses from the nape of her neck to her shoulder, his breath ghosting over her flesh as leaned into her ear. "I know the truth."

Taking his words in, Mara felt herself stiffen. She knew it wasn't something that he was saying to be cruel, but the words still affected her all the same. The previous night Jaime had made many confessions to her; confessions which had triggered a need in her to do the very same. She knew there were many things about her past that she owed to him to confess, yet the more she came to this realization, the more she felt the intense desire to ignore it. Her time spent in the pleasure house was not a time she cared to remember, nor to relive were she to confide in Jaime.

What would he think of her if he knew? Would he ever be able to look at her the same way again? It didn't seem a risk worth taking. Still, Mara knew that he deserved to know the truth, especially after all he had revealed to her.

Slowly shaking those thoughts away, she covered her insecurities with a bright smile. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because of what you're going to let me do to you next," He replied softly, without missing so much as a beat.

Trying her best to ignore her current thought process, she laughed softly against his lips as he delved in for a deep kiss, obliging him for a few seconds before gently pulling away.

"Jaime," She sighed, leaning her forehead against his. "We need to go."

"Mmm, not quite yet." He insisted as he pulled her forward by her hips, her back pressed squarely against the soft feather mattress as he slid down between her thighs.

"Jaime . . . " She shook her head, her eyes going from his to the door of their bedroom, but even as she warned him she could feel her heart betraying her as it begun to race with excitement.

Lowering his mouth, he rained kisses over the ripe swell of her breasts, ignoring her words of caution as he gradually made his way down further, briefly stopping to press his lips along a constellation of freckles marking her ribcage, his mouth then traveling lower to the space between her smooth thighs.

Balling the edge of the sheet up in her hand, she shivered as she felt his warm breath hovering over her most sensitive area, only to move away seconds later as he lipped the soft skin of her inner thigh instead. Remaining poised over her, he slid his hand across the supple length of her calves as his lips continued their deliciously torturous descent, his tongue darting out to trace the smooth juncture where her inner thigh met her pelvis.

"J—" She started, but quickly silenced herself, her breath hitching from deep within her chest as a sharp twist of pleasure rolled through her body like a rogue wave.

"That wouldn't be the sound of protest, would it?" He paused, glancing up at her.

Chest heaving, she shook her head as she stared down at him with eager eyes. How could she ever protest _this?_

"Good." He replied with a wicked smile, his eyes still trained on hers as he parted her smooth folds with a swift graze of his index finger, finding her hot and slick.

Gazing up at her, he circled the sweet pearl of flesh he discovered between his thumb and forefinger, his emerald eyes never leaving hers as he dipped his head lower to trace a path with his tongue along the outside of her cunt. Both her body and mind responded instantly, her mouth calling his name over and over, her toes curling as she cried out. Grinning as he listened to her wanton response, he descended further, his mouth fully covering the moist, aching flesh between her legs.

"Mmm . . . " She moaned softly, raising the back of her hand to keep herself quiet, her teeth closing over the skin of her knuckles.

"Take your hand away," He growled against her clit. "Do you want me to stop?"

 _"_ _No!"_ She insisted, ashamed of the desperation sounding in her voice.

"Then beg me for it." He murmured against her skin, his lips curving into a devilish smirk as he raised his eyes to meet hers, clearly enjoying the power he currently held over her.

"Please," She breathed, her voice breaking from a mixture of frustration and anticipation.

Moving her hand through his hair, she arched her body forward in another attempt to bring him closer. Never before had she begged a man for anything. In fact, she had always been the one known to bring men to their knees in the brothel, taunting and teasing each one to their breaking points before she would allow them any semblance of pleasure. Truly, she hated herself for breaking such a streak, but she needed her release more than ever now that he had taunted her so mercilessly with it.

"Jaime, please, _I need you_."

 _Three words_ — the same three words she'd whispered desperately into his ear the night they'd been together for the first time — three words which sealed his fate. She knew exactly what to say, and he knew exactly what to do.

Burying his face between her thighs, he rammed his tongue forward, lapping away at her sweet flesh. She tasted better than anything he'd ever feasted on before in his life; like the sweets and baked fruits he'd eaten every night after supper as a child when he'd been good, as well as all the others he'd snuck when he hadn't been.

"You're mine, Mara," He whispered across her skin in between delivering heavy, languid kisses and caresses to her most sensitive spots with his lips and tongue. With each new movement, he thrust his tongue forward, repeating the same word over and over. "Mine . . . mine . . . _mine_."

Cursing and moaning in the same breath, Mara clenched her thighs to either side of his face, raking her fingernails along his scalp as she felt him sucking that tiny, swollen nub into his mouth over and over again in quick succession. Grinning against her, Jaime held her down by her hips, acting as her anchor as she thrashed beneath him.

Quickly finding her release, she swallowed a scream, utter bliss pulling her in, piercing through her body in fierce, hungry spasms. Finally meeting her end, she cried out a slue of strangled, incoherent words, her lower body bucking forward, seizing wildly beneath his constraints only to slump back down several seconds later as she allowed that beautiful oblivion to overtake her.

"How . . . ?" She breathed, staring down at him in amazement.

In her experience most men either lacked the skill or courage to do what Jaime had just so willingly given. She'd spent enough time with members of the opposite sex to know that most were too selfish to return the favor of such an act, but not him. Jaime had been more generous than any of the men she'd ever lain with, and infinitely more skilled.

"I'm a man of many talents," He explained with a shrug of his shoulders, folding his arms across her smooth stomach and resting his chin against her.

"And you're welcome to share those talents as much as you please," She began softly, reaching out to stroke her fingers over a day's worth of stubble that had grown along his jaw. "So long as you reserve that particular talent for _me._ "

"As my lady commands." He grinned.

* * *

By the time Jaime and Mara made their way down to the main lobby of the inn, they were greeted by a deafening silence. All around them guests seemed to be in an utter state of dismay, unable to so much as break their fast as their bellies rumbled with grief and anxiety.

Discovering this, the smile on Mara's lips died at once, quickly dissolving into a frown as she looked to Jaime to find the same expression of confusion on his face. Taking her hand into his, he moved with her towards the front of the room where the innkeeper stood in grim silence.

"What's happened?" He asked, his eyes scanning the room once more before landing back on the old woman.

Looking up, the innkeeper hesitated. "You've not heard?"

Mara shook her head to confirm that they had not.

"The Starks," The old woman began slowly. "The Starks are dead . . . murdered at Edmure Tully's wedding to the Frey girl."

"Murdered by whom?" Jaime asked at once, his eyes searching the innkeeper for more details.

It couldn't have been his father's men, they'd journeyed back to the Capital during Stannis Baratheon's siege — nor could it have been Stannis. Perhaps the Ironborn men had gotten to the Starks . . . but no, that didn't seem right either. The Greyjoys had abandoned their youngest son after his feeble attempt to claim Winterfell had failed, and had not been heard of since.

"They say it was the Freys, and Roose Bolton. They turned on the King of the North, his army, his lady mother . . . Walder Frey butchered them all, right beneath his very roof."

"This can't be true." Mara gasped against her hand, horrified.

Mara had grown up hearing stories of the Starks. Eddard Stark had been granted Warden of the North by King Robert when she was just a girl. Not only were the Starks known to be a powerful family, but over all else, an honorable family.

Long ago, around her ninth name day, Lord Stark had visited her father's farm to examine his crops. With him he'd brought along little Robb Stark. Mara could remember the boy's copper colored hair, his deep blue eyes; his kindness. He resembled his lady mother more than his father, but was still undeniably handsome, even at such a young age.

Whilst their fathers spoke of business, Mara and Robb had hurried off to the stables to visit the horses and play what seemed to be a never-ending game of hide-and-seek. Thinking back, Mara smiled sadly at the memory. She'd never known Robb in his adulthood but he'd been a nice boy, willing to play with a girl rather than poke fun at her like the rest of the boys her age were so inclined to do.

"It's true, alright." The old woman nodded, the look on her face mirroring Mara's own.

Having been imprisoned by the Starks for the past year, Jaime was not sure how to take this news. He'd spent an endless slue of days and nights tied to a post, covered in his own shit under the Stark's watch, but Robb himself had never brought harm to him. In fact, Robb had been given every opportunity to do so, yet he'd chosen to hold Jaime captive instead.

And then there was Lady Catelyn.

Jaime had spent his entire time in the Stark's camp taunting the woman in her grief over her husband's death, and she'd still released him with the hope that he would return her daughters to her. He'd made a solemn vow to return both Sansa and Arya once he arrived back in King's Landing, but what happened to that vow now that Lady Stark was dead? Regardless of all Jaime had been through — out of all the enemies he had acquired over the years — the Starks were oddly enough, not his worst. Of course he knew what this meant for the war, for his family — it was a great victory — but that thought didn't give him any sense of joy. No one deserved to die in such a way, not even the bloody Starks.

Quickly catching Mara's eye, realization dawned on them both as they recalled Brienne's words. It hadn't been the Lannisters that Brienne had overheard Bolton plotting against, but the Starks.

 _"_ _You ask my advice, it was bound to happen sooner or later!"_

At the sudden disturbance, all eyes went to a man who sat in the corner over his bowl of porridge, shoveling food away into his mouth as if nothing of much interest had happened. "The Young Wolf was arrogant, and he didn't have the numbers to face Tywin Lannister in battle neither." Nodding his head, the stranger looked over at Jaime and Mara with a twinkle in his eye. "Frey did him a mercy, you ask me."

"Funny, _nobody did ask you._ " Mara spat at the stranger, her eyes shining. Instantly, a dozen other guests began to shout their approval, banging their empty cups at her sentiment. The man had to have a death wish to make such mindless comments under a roof full of northmen.

"Fucking cunt," The man grunted before taking a sip from the flagon of ale he'd ordered.

Narrowing her eyes, Mara began to step closer. _Cunt._ How ironic, that word; how men always seemed to toss it around as an insult when it was the only part of a woman that most seemed to respect. Clenching her fists, she started to move forward when she felt Jaime's hand on her waist. Pulling her aside, he moved forward instead and in two quick strides made his way for the stranger, slamming his fist full in his face and sending him backward in his chair. Instantly, the crowd began to cheer as a few others moved forward to kick the man while he was down.

"We have to go." Jaime said at once, rousing Mara from her anger.

Staring at the man as he laid splayed out on the floor, she hesitated. Part of her longed to join the crowd as they began to toss their food and drinks at the traitor, but a much larger part knew that Jaime was right. More than that, she couldn't feel proud of a group of people taking down one man, no matter how much he may have deserved it. As things began to take a turn for the worse, Mara was relieved when the cook and a few kitchen boys came out to put an end to the violence before the guests tore up the inn.

"Aye, that may be best." The old woman agreed, looking to Mara. Regardless, she did not seem too concerned at the current fight going on under her roof. Truthfully, she was likely to have seen much worse in her day. "There will be eyes along the road to King's Landing. . . and not all of them friendly."

"Who said we were headed to King's Landing?" Jaime asked suddenly, his brow furrowed with concern.

Rather than responding, the old innkeeper simply gave him a knowing smile as she waved them both off.

* * *

The two had ridden for well over an hour without saying much to one another. Mara's silence stemmed from the numbing sense of guilt that she felt for her father. Ryon Thaller had always been a large supporter of the Starks. He'd raised the banner bearing the direwolf sigil up above their modest home in the country with pride. The death of such a family made her heart hurt for his memory; for the North. It didn't matter that she was leaving her home behind, she still ached for the northerners.

When Mara was young her mother Alina had always refused to meddle in the politics of Westeros. She had respected her husband's support of House Stark, but Mara could tell that her allegiance had always lain elsewhere, in Dorne. Of course Alina had put those loyalties behind her, having given up all of her claims to lands and titles when she'd gone against her father's wishes and married a commoner. Even so, Mara could not help but wonder what her mother would think of her now. Alina Jordayne would likely be rolling over in her grave to learn that her only daughter had taken up with a Lannister.

"Are you all right?" Jaime asked softly, waking Mara from her slight reverie.

Mara had spent the past hour of their journey in silence, but it was not out of spite, nor any sense of anger towards Jaime. She knew who the Lannisters were, what their cause was and whom they fought for. She'd known all along that they supported Joffrey Baratheon's claim to the Iron Throne and had become enemies of the Starks in the process. To pretend anything else would be a lie.

Nodding slowly, she offered her attempt at a small smile. Even so, it felt wrong. How could she feel any sense of happiness when such a great family had been butchered?

"I'm fine, it's just . . . " Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. "War is never easy. I've distracted myself over the years with work, tried to stay ignorant to it all . . . but I know now that it's hopeless."

Pressing his lips together, Jaime gave a brief nod of understanding. "I'd had similar hopes growing up, but all of them were dashed by my father."

When Jaime had first met Mara she'd given off an air that suggested she knew much more than any common handmaiden should about the ways of the world. It was one of the things that he'd admired most about her, and yet he could understand her desire to feign ignorance like most young women her age. How much easier it would be for her to marry some lord, live in a castle and run a household. Even so, Jaime knew that despite how tempting taking the easy way out may have been for her, Mara would always choose the other option.

"He was a good man, Robb, as was his father."

Stroking her horse's mane between her fingers, Mara hesitated. She knew that talking of the Starks with a Lannister was likely a very foolish thing to do, but she would not hide her feelings from Jaime, nor her beliefs. From the beginning she had been completely upfront with him, and she wasn't about to stop now.

"My father's crops were in danger one year, winter was creeping up so quickly. Lord Stark brought Robb on a trip to our land just before the cold set in, and he bought everything we had spent the past several months growing. Parsnips, onions, mushrooms, corn — everything. He kept my family fed over the course of the long winter and pulled my father from a debt he'd been drowning in for several years. I don't know where we would have been had he not . . . " Words trailing off, she looked away. She could feel the threat of tears descending upon her, but she wouldn't allow it. Instead, she simply repeated her earlier sentiment. "He was a good man."

Pausing once more, Jaime stared at Mara. He would have to be insane to think that she would simply abandon her loyalties for him. She was fiercely independent and truthfully, he wouldn't have it any other way. Seeing her display back at the inn had more than proven that — not that he'd needed any sort of reminder.

"What was done to the Starks was the Frey's and Bolton's attempt at becoming allies of my father's, which they no doubt achieved. The Starks were a grave threat to Joffrey's reign. Mara, I need you to know, when we arrive in King's Landing . . . this news will be celebrated."

"I know what I signed myself up for." She replied simply. "I'm going there to be with you, everything else . . . " Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled softly. "We'll deal with it together."

 _Everything else._ The thought was agonizing. To Jaime, everything else meant his father, his duties, and worst of all . . . _Cersei._ It had been too long since he'd allowed himself a moment to think of the endless possibilities of what would happen once he brought Mara to King's Landing. The thought was terrifying, but the thought of being without her was even more so. She was right. Whatever else happened, they would deal with it together. He just prayed to whatever gods willing to listen that his darkest secrets would remain hidden as deep as the dragon skeletons that were buried beneath the Red Keep.

"How are you feeling about all of this?" She asked suddenly, stirring Jaime from his thoughts.

Pressing his lips together once more, he shook his head slowly. It was as if she had been reading his mind, and he felt guilty, almost ashamed of the fact that he was thinking less about the Starks and more about his current situation. Since when had he possessed such a moral compass?

"I'm nor sure," He admitted then hesitated for a few seconds more. "I know this is what my family wants, what I've been fighting for myself, and yet . . . "

"And yet . . . " She nodded her understanding. "Do you think you would feel the same way, had you not met me?"

Taking her question into consideration, Jaime hesitated. "I don't know." He answered truthfully. Delivering a gentle nudge to his horse with the heels of his boots, he moved in front of Mara, causing her mare to come to a stop. "But I know that you're hurting right now, and the fact that I've contributed to that pain in any small way . . . " His words trailing off, he sighed. "Seeing it kills me when all I want to do is protect you." Reaching out to stroke her cheek, he smiled down at her. "And I know you well enough by now to know exactly what you're going to say — that you can damn well protect yourself, but — "

 _Thrum._

Before Jaime could so much as finish his previous statement, an arrow slammed straight into the trunk of a tree that stood directly behind his head. Raising his hand to shield the sun from his eyes, he looked up to find a young man atop his horse not ten yards away, his bow and arrow stretched out in front of him as three other men rode up behind him.

Narrowing his eyes, Jaime hesitated. He did not recognize the man, but he did recognize the banners that stood behind him. The flayed man. House Bolton.

"Let's see if she's right about that, shall we?" Ramsay Snow called out, a slow sadistic smile curving his mouth upward, his icy blue eyes darting between Jaime and Mara as he readied his bow with another arrow.

* * *

 **A/N:** Dun, dun, DUNNN . . . As always, let me know what you think!


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